Ink Blots
by Mars Carter
Summary: As the Avengers' psychologist, not much surprises Lydia Kennedy anymore. This changes when she accidentally becomes a fugitive with, befriends, and starts to fall for a recently reformed Bucky Barnes. [B/OC; AU after Winter Soldier]
1. catalyzation

Hey everyone! Welcome to _Ink Blots._ This fic is a Captain America/Avengers/general MCU thing that I've been working on for a while, and I'm really excited to share it with you guys! I'm planning on this being long, so here's some basic info to know before you get involved too much.

 **Rating:** T for violence, romance, and language. More specific triggers will be listed on the tops of each chapter!  
 **Characters:** Lydia Kennedy, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, etc.  
 **Pairings:** Lydia/Bucky, Steve/Darcy, Natasha/Clint, Pietro/Jules, Wanda/Vision, Thor/Jane, Steve/Bucky (past)  
 **Summary:** As the Avengers' psychologist, not much surprises Lydia Kennedy anymore. This changes when she accidentally becomes a fugitive with, befriends, and starts to fall for a recently reformed Bucky Barnes.  
 **Warnings:** Violence/romance/some sex stuff but nothing explicit. This chapter specifically includes mentions of kidnapping and torture, and some homophobia.

 **EDIT 7/2/16:** fixed plot errors and closed plot holes and fixed typos.

i. _catalyzation_

The thing about fleeing is that one can never actually flee. To be a successful fugitive, a girl needs to blend into the crowd, since tucking and rolling behind foliage isn't exactly subtle.

However, blending in is a task made infinitely harder when lugging around a former assassin with a metal arm.

This probably requires some explanation.

* * *

 _Two Weeks Ago_

"They need you on the 15th floor for an eval at eleven," SHIELD's receptionist informed Lydia Kennedy as the woman strolled towards her office. The day was shaping up to be a quiet one, with the respective members of the Avengers on different missions-Steve was running a observation job in London, Bruce and Tony in the Tower working on their projects. Thor was in Asgard for a while deal with his father, and Clint and Natasha were in Paris.

"I thought that was next week?" Lydia answered, eyes instinctively going up to the calendar on the wall. SHIELD never moved appointments unless a city had been blown up, and Lydia's viewing of the morning news yielded no evidence that someone had busted back into town and tried to kill the Avengers (again.)

"It got moved," he explained. _Thanks, man,_ she thought, inner voice dripping with sarcasm. _Real helpful._

"Any reason why?" she inquired, but was only answered with a shrug of shoulders and a _how-should-I-know_ look.

She sighed.

Lydia was a creature in possession of impeccable control. If her degree, her job, her skin and bones were all peeled away, one would find nothing but a tersely moderated center. It had been bred into her by strict parents and two years at the SHIELD academy and seven years of higher education. Three years as an Avengers babysitter, four learning how to maintain a gun, five at university learning about the way the mind worked. Self-control was as imminent a part of her being as her trademark red lips or curly hair or dark skin or low voice. You can't hold a gun without being responsible. Not that it counted for weapons anymore. She didn't usually carry a gun these days.

She never meant for it to turn out this way.

The plan was like this:

Go to college, go to the SHIELD academy, become a field agent, work until no longer capable, get a job as an investigative operative.

But on her first mission, her first _real_ mission in the field, someone jumped out of a truck and stole Lydia from her place on the sidewalk, and then tied her up and left bruises and scars. When she returned home she received a diagnosis for PTSD. And just like that, her field career was over. Gone. Someone used to composure and commandeering her own life had no choice but to stray from her plan. To be fair, she didn't stray far—back to grad school to get certified in psychology. SHIELD paid off her student loans in exchange for her working for them. She'd already been exposed to the inner workings of the organization; it was best to keep her on their side.

After a year of low-clearance teams, Lydia got promoted to Strike Team Delta, and when that unit was deactivated, she was assigned to the mess that saved (and destroyed a lot of) New York. As it turned out, most of the Heroes of New York failed to take care of themselves, despite insistence from the resident scientist-wranglers and assistants and significant others. Darcy Lewis and Pepper Potts tried as hard as they could to keep the team healthy, but Lydia was the one in connection to the agency employing them. She was the one who could track their sleep hours or suspend them from missions if they had stayed up all of the previous night. And even though Stark liked to whine about it, she wasn't punishing them. She was trying to keep them from losing their minds.

Lydia frowned at her useless assistant ( _why_ wouldn't SHIELD let her hire her own staff?), then sighed, then stepped into her office and locked the door. She checked her email, and surely enough, the inbox was full of messages- _meet with Romanoff and Rogers after they return from mission. Discuss side-effects of sleeping pills prescribed to Stark. Make sure Lewis is keeping Jane well-fed._

Lydia eyed the post-it's stuck hastily to the frame of her computer screen, including _FOSTER-10 AM WAKEUP._ It was 9:30, so Lydia was tempted to just call and get it out of the way but she decided to let Jane get the extra half hour of sleep. SHIELD's brightest minds were no good with their eyeballs dried out.

She spent the morning as she normally did, cross-legged in her desk chair and making phone calls and discussing Stark's sleeping habits with Pepper. The wireless monitor for Banner's heart rate sat a few inches away from her computer, the line drawing steadily across the screen. Photos of her parents and sister sat on the desk behind jars of pens and rubber band balls. Stacks of papers covered the surface. A crisply chaotic watchful mess of knick-knacks and supplies and notes. Each purposeful and yet none complexly organized. They lay evenly on her desk, overlapping corners and edges here and there. Nothing creased.

When eleven o'clock rolled around, Lydia grabbed her purse and her notes. She locked the drawers in her desk and headed up to the fifteenth floor. SHIELD's New York building was all smooth surfaces and cold angles. The architecture tried very hard to be sharp and real but as a whole, it ultimately seemed abstract. Like existing within a monochromatic cubist painting.

Usually Agent Gonzalez conducted her interviews. He was a tall man with a kind face who had retired from field work a decade ago. But he wasn't the one in the windowless office when Lydia arrived-instead, it was a balding man with sallow skin and a natural frown. She flinched at his face. In her head, her mother's voice chastised her- _Don't be rude, Lydia. Say hello to the nice man._

Lydia bit down on the inside of her cheek. Hard. "Hello," she greeted.

"Morning, Missy." His eyes roamed her figure. She shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze. Uncomfortable at being called 'missy.' Everything about him made her squirm.

"I'm here for the eval?" she clarified, bringing his eyes back up to her own.

He pointed at the chair and brought up a tape recorder. _Weird._ SHIELD had access to all sorts of high-tech. Why was he using a tape recorder? With actual _tape?_

Dropping her purse onto the carpeted floor, Lydia took a seat. Her legs stuck unpleasantly to the seat of the chair and she lifted her knees up to keep from making contact.

"Tell me about the Avengers," the agent demanded as soon as she settled.

Lydia's brow furrowed. There were lots of things to tell. "What about them?"

"What has Romanoff told you about her past?"

 _What the hell?_ "She's told me whatever's in her file." _False._ Romanoff trusted Lydia far more than she trusted SHIELD. She'd shared her nightmares with Lydia. Called her on the phone once, even, in a small voice speaking vulnerable words. Well, she'd called Barton first. Still: Lydia was someone she could talk about the Red Room with. She didn't plan on betraying Nat's trust.

"That's not it. I know that's not it."

Lydia squinted at him. "What's this _really_ about? Where's Gonzalez?"

"Tell me about Romanoff."

"Can't. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

He scowled. She glared. The tape recorder made a low noise as the tape spun in circles within. "You are an employee of SHIELD. It is _your_ job to inform us of the data you gather."

"And as a _member_ of SHIELD, by possessing this knowledge I am keeping the organization updated."

"Tell me about Rogers, then."

"He's a true American hero," Lydia deadpanned.

He didn't seem to appreciate this comment. "What was his relationship with James Barnes like?"

"They were close. You don't need me to tell you that, though. You could pick up any history book you want and it would tell you-' _Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers, best friends, close pals, war-buddies, and possibly lovers,'"_ she quoted.

"Were they?"

"Excuse me?"

"Were they lovers?"

"No." They weren't. Steve had a crush on Bucky for a while growing up. They kissed once when Steve was eleven and Bucky was twelve, and never spoke of it to each other again. But she wasn't going to tell _him_ that. That wasn't just a violation of doctor-patient privilege. That was being an asshole. And Lydia could be an asshole about a lot of things, but certainly not this.

"Hm. Good thing. Can you imagine-America's favorite hero being gay? It would explain the tights." And then he began to make this ugly wheezing laugh, hacking out coughs between guffaws. Her jaw set, Lydia tried her hardest not to appear as irritated as she was. This was a waste of her time, this was a waste of her energy, this was probably a waste of the tape rotating in the machine, collecting such an irrelevant conversation, words that were unadulteratedly incorrect. She didn't comment. He seemed like someone adamant of his opinion.

"What is this meeting about?" Lydia repeated, and the man sobered up again.

"The thing is," he said, "you aren't sharing the truth with us. That's a federal offense."

She folded her arms over her chest, elbows and skin enveloped to keep her anger inside, to smother the rage and quiet the fury. The heat in her core tangled together as it got compressed tighter and tighter.

"What truth am I withholding?"

"I don't know if you realize this, girly-girl, but the Avengers are dangerous."

 _Girly-girl?_ Lydia bit her cheek until the skin broke and blood spilled into her mouth, hot and metallic on her taste buds. _Quiet,_ she commanded herself. She begged her features not to betray her thoughts.

"I'm aware," she answered, patience dwindling. "SHIELD is the one that puts them on a pedestal. Get them more covert costumes if you want people to stop idolizing them. I don't know. That's not my job."

"You know, your tone could be considered aggressive."

Lydia gritted her teeth. "Why am I here?"

"You're the most dangerous woman in the country. One Avenger knows one Avenger's secrets, but what about you? You know them _all._ You can't be trusted to carry this information alone."

"Information is a weapon, then. Well, solving the problem isn't going to happen by handing it out to everyone else."

The man squinted at her, over the table, and announced, "Gonzalez will be back next week. You can speak with him then."

"Fantastic," Lydia muttered, an edge to her voice. Instantly, an apology rushed to her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Now was no time for manners. She gathered her things and left the room, but on her way out, she spared a glance over her shoulder. Nothing felt safe.

* * *

Things happened normally for a few weeks. She got a haircut and cleaned her apartment. Her sister was on spring break from college, so they all visited home for a few days.

That's where Lydia saw the news. In a peculiar collision of two worlds, she discovered what happened in DC while clutching a plate of her mother's cooking.

The city was in flames. HYDRA had taken over SHIELD and demolished it.

"Ma!" Bianca called. "You put too much rice in," she whined.

Lydia couldn't move, though. Her eyes were glued to the screen, unable to turn away. A blonde news anchor spat out a number of casualties and injuries. They played footage of Nat and Steve and some kind of cyborg engaging in elaborate fighting. A winged man was involved too, somehow.

"...what this information means for the World's Greatest Heroes, we here are unsure. More at eleven."

* * *

That night, Lydia dialed Clint.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded.

"I have no clue. SHIELD's gone. If I were you, I'd lay low for a little. I've got a safehouse I can give you coordinates too, if you need. You have my number."

* * *

Lydia was in her apartment three days later. She'd been a few states away from the chaos and destruction, but still stress-organized and re-organized everything. She swept for bugs every time she entered a room. She stopped checking her email. She chopped up her phone and threw it in the sink, using a burner to call Darcy and make sure Jane was okay.

It was a Tuesday morning when things began.

She'd been fixing herself a bowl of cereal with the news playing off in the living room. Someone started to knock on her door.

 _It's six am, pal,_ she thought as she padded over to it. Her fingers grazed the knob when a string of words was spat out of the TV.

"Lydia Kennedy, a highly dangerous criminal. Authorities are calling her a threat to national security. Crimes include treason, withholding time-sensitive and hazardous information, and murder."

Lydia swung around to stare open-mouthed at the TV. Wait. _What?_ Treason? _Threat to national security? Murderer?_

A moment passed by as Lydia processed this information. _Treason. Threat to national security. Murderer._ Her pulse raced furiously through her veins. And then instinct kicked in.

She grabbed the emergency backpack from her closet: clothes, first aid, substantive weapons (as in, a pocket knife and a few matches). Lydia yanked her sweatpants off and exchanged them for jeans and sneakers. She ran a brush through her hair to avoid suspicion and skipped out on the makeup. And then she grabbed her notebooks of interviews and session notes, threw open her window, and jumped out onto the fire escape.

She climbed down three flights and jumped down the last. _Treason. Threat to national security. Murderer._ What the hell what the hell what the

—oof.

Lydia grunted as her foot rammed into something. A garbage bag, likely. Looking down, she assessed what type of trash had spilled onto her shoes.

 _Not_ a garbage bag. A person. She flipped him over. He was probably drunk. Probably just passed out and stoned. Probably just a homeless man or a dude who'd spent too much time partying last night. Not something she needed to concern herself with. Nothing to worry about.

Until, well, she noticed his arm.

His arm was made of fucking metal. When she opened up his hand (his metal hand, like, what the actual fuck), she found a piece of paper with her name and address written in Steve's writing.

The man grunted, and the realization hit Lydia with the force of a brick.

 _The Winter Soldier._

She gasped and jumped away, hand flying to her waist as she'd been taught. Only, there was no gun. There was just her, and a highly trained assassin that put Captain America into a hospital. This was not a situation she wanted to be in.

" _Steve_ ," he grunted. " _Where's Steve?"_

And now he was awake.

Fantastic.

Lydia turned towards the street. A man passed by and she held her breath. He didn't turn. Didn't even notice her among the shadows. _Run_ , her training whispered. _Run, find a crowd, meet up with an ally._

Well, if she died now at least she wouldn't have to die later. This logic emerged from such impeccable hatred of procrastination. Logically, her brain told her, "You don't want to die procrastinating. If now's your last moment alive, now is when you want to be productive."

In one swift, masochistic action, Lydia turned to the person. "Who are you?" she demanded.

He grunted. Then: "... _Bucky_. That's what he called me. The man on the bridge called me Bucky. The museum said Barnes."

 _Bucky Barnes?_ But...he was dead. One war hero had already risen from the grave. Now Barnes too?

Lydia asked him, "Who's Steve?" to make sure.

"Steve Rogers. Skinny kid. Not so much anymore, I guess. Where is he?"

Lydia stared it him for a moment. He looked like someone who'd just woken up from a hundred-year sleep. The facts whirred around in her head. _He_ was the Winter Soldier, but _he_ was also Bucky Barnes, then by the transitive property of equality (if a = b and a = c, then b must = c), Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier. So Steve's best friend had put him into the hospital, which meant that—

 _Sirens._

Police sirens wailing in the distance. _There's no time. There's no time. Leave him here._

Lydia yanked him off the ground, ignoring her brain and deciding rather optimistically that if he wanted her dead she'd be deceased. She smashed in the window of one of the parked cars using his arm and stuck a hand in (hers, not his), to open the door from the inside. Shoving him into the passenger seat, she jumped in.

It was her lucky day, apparently (aside from the whole _traitor to America_ thing), because whatever idiot parked their car here had left their keys on the dashboard. _Nice._

Lydia pulled them out and started the car, reaching under Barnes' arm to reach the center console. She pulled out of the alley just as a police car made the turn to pull in.

And then she made the decision betweenblending in, or driving a hundred an hour and getting the fuck out of town. She'd seen the car chase in a recollective segment of footage about the Battle of DC. Running meant being chased, and being chased meant getting caught, and getting caught was...not good.

It was six am and dark, she just needed to make it out of the city, somewhere more rural. She couldn't go home—they'd follow her almost definitely and she didn't want to bring her mom and dad and Bianca into this. All the Avengers were probably under fire. Also, there was the small complication of: she'd decided to tote around a former assassin.

"What the _hell_ ," said the Winter Soldier.

"I agree," quipped Lydia. "But here's the deal. You're wanted for mass murder. I'm wanted for murder, which never happened, and also for treason, which also never happened. I don't know what your story is," she told him, finding a highway to merge onto, "but I know we have a common enemy. And I know that you and me? The two of us are going on a road trip until we figure it out."

 **a/n:** Thank you for reading! I know I teased this story on tumblr for a while (you can find me at suethor or cabeswwater) and now it's finally here. Please please please leave a review, it would make my day.


	2. an assassin & a psychologist

**Chapter Two-** _An Assassin and a Psychologist Walk Into a Motel_

Somewhere between the interstate entrance and Pennsylvania, Barnes looked over at Lydia. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, curt, hesitant. Like that wasn't his actual question, but the real inquiry was trapped behind a heavy tongue and sore lips.

"Lydia Kennedy."

"You're the doctor-I was supposed to...he left that there and I-"

Barnes suddenly seized up when Lydia swerved lanes. "What?" she questioned.

"Sorry. I haven't been….I haven't been in a car in a while. And people don't drive like they used to." Barnes frowned suddenly. "God, how many years has it been?"

Lydia squinted a little as she recalled Steve's file. Bucky had fallen into the ravine in 1945. Now it was 2014. Lydia tapped her fingers on the wheel as she worked out the mental math. _Four minus five, borrow from the 1, subtract…_

"Sixty-nine," she answered. "Almost seventy."

Next to her, Barnes groaned, but then rested his head morosely against the window.

"Don't do that!" she exclaimed, suddenly paranoid. Reaching over to the glove compartment, she groped around the stranger's things and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the container, tossing them at him. "Put these on if you're going to."

"I'll stop."

"Put them on anyways."

Six hours passed in silence, six hours of Lydia's thoughts eating away at her and three six of a hand itching to switch on the radio, to drown in ads and static; six hours of Barnes remaining shock-still, head against the window and metal arm tucked carefully under his jacket.

Six hours until the car ran out of gas.

Lydia had them parked at a gas station in front of a drug store, and she almost used her credit card to pay for the gas. _Almost_. Running from such a monstrous agency had a jarring effect. Every movement demanded tediousness, or she could get herself arrested and killed in a cover-up job, and _why_ did she think it was a good idea to bring the assassin along?

The ball of tensity in Lydia's stomach threatened to untwine and let loose, but she clenched her jaw. _A level head. A clear mind._ She was no use to anyone if she were crying.

She filled up the tank with gritted teeth. In the minimart, she bought a men's hoodie and a few granola bars and some makeup. And hair product.

Back in the car, Barnes was in the exact same position as the last time she'd seen him, head leaning out the window, staring out at the flat land with hollow eyes, like he was somewhere else.

Lydia drove for a few more hours until she reached a motel deep enough into the decaying rural americana.

"Stay here," she ordered. It took her a few minutes outside to ensure that there were no security cameras, and then a few more inside the lobby to sweep casually for any more cameras. The girl at the counter had glazed-over eyes, a hollow soul, someone want, want, _wanting_ to get somewhere, but trapped. Little pools of hazel that said things like, "I drove for hours in a straight line and pulled up in front of my starting point." Where do people in the middle of nowhere live? This neon-signed hotel sticks out of the flat landscape like a sore thumb, who put this here?

"I'd like a room for two," Lydia said with a glittering smile. She pulled off her sunglasses and rests them on the counter. "My boyfriend and I are on a roadtrip," she gushed. "And this is the first hotel in miles!"

The girl snapped her bubblegum between her teeth. "How many nights?"

"Can I say indefinite?" Lydia asked.

"Sure."

One word, dripping with apathy like a toddler's breakfast drips with syrup. There was nothing sweet about her indifference. But she shed no interest, as if living this far into a wasteland left her brain dry, and maybe at this point Lydia could bring Barnes in, metal arm and all, and she wouldn't notice. Maybe SHIELD could surround the motel with SWAT teams, and she'd sit there, chin on hand, elbow on counter, staring at the little numbers on the receipt machine. Maybe there are cults and crime rings in the rooms above but she'll never know, and maybe if Lydia came back in a hundred years she'd still be here, exhausted from doing nothing, a skeleton, an old lady with white hair.

She handed Lydia a room key, for the top floor facing the street.

Lydia was grateful that she found a place where it was dark at night.

She returned to the car hastily, telling Barnes to put the hoodie on.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You're a fucking cyborg, man. Put on the hoodie."

He put on the hoodie.

The metal hand made it hard for him to zip up the jacket, so Lydia stepped close to him, zipping it up his chest. He inhaled sharply, so close to contact but not quite close enough. Lydia pretended not to notice.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and brushed some of Barnes' hair out of his eyes. On her way through the lobby, to the stairs, she gripped his hand close, to maintain the facade and cover up the silver sheen of his metal limb.

The sun was low on the horizon when they finally reached their room. Lydia stared out at the orange star hovering above the edge of the sky for a moment, and then slid the shears closed. The air smelled…. _dank._ Stale. Like life hadn't touched the room in decades.

Barnes perched himself carefully on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank TV screen, void of color and content. Lydia stepped over to him slowly, and then said, "I need to cut your hair."

His head snapped up. "I barely know you, and I'm not letting you put scissors next to my head." He breathes out a sigh. "I still don't know what happened."

Lydia tilted her head to the side a little bit as she considered. "You need to cut your hair, because it's a distinguishing feature. People will see you on the street and recognize you. It's the same as having a really specific tattoo. Or a metal arm."

The Winter Soldier scowled, and Lydia continued.

"If you let me cut your hair, I'll explain to you what I think happened."

To be honest, Lydia had no fucking clue what happened. America's second favorite war hero was now America's most wanted. People loved to burn their gods, for some reason.

She shouldn't turn on the news yet. Not until he was asleep.

But then again, sleep didn't seem like something that would come to him so easily. He likely had severe PTSD, or at least repressed memories lurking in his subconscious.

She offered him her hand. Barnes considered it for a moment, jaw dropping a little to part his lips, and then, hesitantly, he stretched out his own arm. His real one, made of flesh and bones, and rested it in Lydia's. When his fingertips brushed against the flesh of her wrist, Barnes flinched like he'd been jolted by electricity. _How long has it been since he's touched another person?_

Lydia led him over to the bathtub, which was thankfully clean, and sat him down on the end. If she cut his hair here, it would be easier to clean up later, which was one less thing to worry about.

He sat ramrod straight, frozen at a vertical line, and Lydia traced a circle over the back of his hand to try and comfort him without invading his space too much.

This was not how she pictured her day going.

Lydia disappeared for a moment to grab the scissors. She sat down on the edge of the tub, trying not to knee Barnes in the back and only succeeding to a partial degree.

How many days would this take? A week? Two? Years? Forever? Who knows? Maybe she would die tomorrow, or live here forever.

She analyzed those possibilities further as she ran a hand through Barnes's hair, but his shudder tugged her into the present. Barnes shivered as Lydia carded her hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out. A small, round, " _oh_ ," left his mouth when she traced a line across his scalp with her nails. The noise, so small but volumes more than the creaking floors, shattered something in Lydia and she had to fight to suppress a flinch. A moment passed, her hand still half-frozen in his locks, when Barnes cleared his throat. "What happened?"

What _did_ happen? Barnes looked so confused and hopeless that she wanted to make up a story, omit the horrible details she fit together. She didn't want him to be burdened by that mess, but also, she didn't want to lie to him. They needed to trust each other if this was going to work.

"How much do you remember?" Lydia asked, pulling out the scissors. She lifted his hair up directly into the air and drew imaginary lines across where she wants to cut it.

"I remember Steve. He was bigger."

Lydia held back a snort at the description. Steve became a lot of things post-serum. _Bigger_ was actually a fairly appropriate umbrella term.

"Right. He was...bigger. Did he explain why?"

Barnes paused and then gave an affirmative hum.

"Do you remember the train?" Lydia asked, combing through his hair to smooth it out, but making sure to keep the scissors on the other side of the sink, far away from his grasp in case she said something to trigger him.

Barnes tended again, so Lydia dropped the fistful of hair and started combing through it again. "Pieces of it. Like in a dream."

He cleared his throat again, to fill the silence.

"You fell," Lydia said. "You fell hundreds of feet but you didn't die. And I don't know how. But someone took you in...and... _brainwashed_ you, I think. It's been almost seventy years, but one of my...clients, I guess. She ran into you a few years back. And then, you ran into Steve." She sighed. How does one inform a man that he's a monster?

He beat her to the punch, though, because his next question asked, "What did I do? While I was being...controlled?"

Lydia gripped the scissors in her hands. "You...you hurt people. A lot of people." When he didn't say anything, she continued, "But that's not you. You didn't want to do those things. I know they weren't your decision, okay?"

" _You_ know _me?_ We don't know shit about each other. You're just some lady that found me in an alley."

 _He's confused. He's hurt._ Empathy could often be found insulting when people were hurt. Lydia didn't say anything for a second, considering her response. "You're a hero. They write about you I history books. I mean, they tend to make you out as Steve's sidekick, but you still saved the country." Trust goes two ways, so Lydia adds, "You can ask me anything you want. I just...I want you to be able to trust me. We're gonna need each other to get through this."

"Why are you helping me?" The words fly from his mouth before a second passes.

"SHIELD has been taken over by HYDRA. They're framing me as a traitor because I wasn't going to spill all the Avengers' secrets."

"Who are the Avengers?"

"That's...it's Steve's team. Him, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, Natasha Romanoff, and Climt Barton. They protect people."

"How do you know Steve?"

"I'm a psychologist. I work with Steve and the others to keep them from going out of their minds."

This game of back-and-forth reminded Lydia of tetherball games with her sister in the park. Bianca was always a hard hitter with stronger fists, slamming the ball in Lydia's way. But where Lydia lacked in strength, she made up for with agility. Whenever her younger sister hit it towards her, Lydia was prepared with a solid comeback. She might not be great on the offensive, but Lydia had always known how to keep herself from getting hit.

"Where is Steve?"

The inquiry hung in the air as a pregnant pause followed. But Lydia closed her eyes and answered truthfully, "I don't know."

She started to trim his hair. Lydia learned to do this on her dad first, during her makeup-fanatic phase. Her dad would sit on a chair in the kitchen and let Lydia trim his hair. It always ended up a little uneven, but he never complained.

The memories of her father and sister sent a wrenching feeling into her gut. Had the government taken them in? Would her parents be arrested? What about her sister and her boyfriend? Would she ever see them again? More importantly, would she ever see them again when nobody was wearing handcuffs?

The government was always so quick to blame the brown people. They'd have a field day with an entire family they could frame as terrorists.

This was her fault.

 _Stop. You'll figure out how to get out of this._ She'd always solved her problems. Now wasn't the time to lose her control.

Lydia continued cutting his hair. Abandoned locks littered his shoulders and the floor of the tub. Greasy hair, unwashed, brushed lightly against the surface of the bathtub as it parted from his scalp.

Lydia paused for a second, debating back and forth whether to ask the question she wanted to ask. Would he even trust her enough to be honest? Would he lash out?

She bit her lip, and then dragged her teeth back into her mouth. A moment later, she asked.

"Are you okay?"

Barnes dropped his arms from the sides of the tub. The metal scraped across the side, wailing like a banshee as it descended, and he froze.

Resting the metal limb in his lap, Barnes replied quietly. "No."

His shoulders began to quiver.

* * *

An hour later, Lydia had finished cutting Barnes' hair (it was a bit lopsided, but not too noticeable), swept up the mess and thrown it away, and showered.

And she'd done some thinking.

A _lot_ of thinking, actually.

Lydia resolved to watch the news, find a library that would let her surf the web for a little bit, and at some point, ditch the car. If she could make it to California, she could meet up with one of her friends from college, who would probably let her crash. Bella was distant enough from Lydia that SHIELD wouldn't try and chase her down as a lead, but also close enough to recognize that she wasn't a terrorist.

Plus, California had a noticeably larger population of South Asian women than Middle of Nowhere, Ohio, so it would be way easier to blend in.

Factoring in time for meals and sleep, the trip would take about a week.

It was better if they paused every once in awhile. National security would be focusing its attention near the coasts and in bigger cities, and the longer she stayed in the states with a two-to-one bison-to-human population, the more of a chance things would get explained or people would think she'd left the country.

Now, the only thing she had to figure out was Barnes.

He seemed mostly confused, and hurt, Lydia noted while a pathetic stream of lukewarm water cascaded over her shoulders. _Volatile._ Not violent now, but potentially.

Also, how the _hell_ did he still look like a thirty year old man? It had been decades, but that jawline was still intact.

The water trickling down her arms in long, droplet-led strands began to run cold, so Lydia reached over to the faucet and switched it off. She towelled off and got dressed, squeezing her hair to dry it as she stepped out of the bathroom.

Barnes watching the news.

Remote in his hand, staring at the TV, unmoving. Frozen. Lydia recognized the deer-in-headlights look: lips parted just so, eyebrows furrowed, eyes blank and chaotic all at once. What a mess his features were.

A redhead news anchor spoke about terrorist threats while clips of Barnes- _the Winter Soldier_ -displayed him shooting people and setting off bombs during the DC mess. A shakily-filmed video of Barnes shooting Natasha popped up and Lydie gritted her teeth.

"You know her," Barnes said.

Lydia nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Is she an Avenger?"

Lydia nodded again. "Yes," she said. "She's okay now."

"I hurt her."

Lydia closed her eyes, grateful that his gaze was still glued on the screen. _Howdoyoucallamanamonster?_ "No. This wasn't you. This was...something possessing you. HYDRA put this malice into your body and into your mind. But I can help you. I promise, I can help you."

Barnes turned around then. He looked lost. Lydia wanted to hug him.

"Is it okay if I keep watching for a few minutes?" she asked. "To see if they've said anything about looking for us?"

At his nod, she turned the volume up a few notches.

" _...also missing is former-SHIELD psychologist Lydia Kennedy, who was discovered this morning to have been involved in the attacks on Washington DC. SHIELD representative Ethan Homer is here to speak with us about Kennedy, who disappeared from her apartment this morning. Ethan, how are you?"_

There's an ugly pale man on the screen, and he looks familiar to Lydia until she realizes that he conducted her interview. Same decaying skin, half dead already.

" _...spoke with her myself, in fact, and she refused to disclose information she was obligated to share with me. She's a very rude young woman, but what worried me more was that she didn't want to speak up for the good of the people. I've done some digging into her past, and I think we might have a lead. In fact, I've already filed to obtain a warrant for her parents' home upstate. Any secrets they have, we're gonna find."_

" _Does SHIELD have any idea where she could be right now?"_

" _She's a highly dangerous member of a team of assassins, so she's always been good at hiding. We'll find her, I can promise you that. Whatever it takes."_

Lydia stared at the television screen for a moment, and then flicked it off with a sharp jab of her finger to the button. She clenched her jaw. How _dare_ they invade her parents' house? What _past?_ What _secrets?_

Without thinking, Lydia overturned the yellowing vase of dead flowers and hurled it towards the ground. It shattered into hundreds of shards of glass,broken and unfixable, another thing to add to the bill, and she felt better, _so much better_ bingeing just _once_ , but the flood of guilt that hit her made the whole thing decidedly not worth it. Barnes sat on the bed still, staring at her with fear. She'd _scared_ him, oh god.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, and then cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry, I'm not...angry, usually. I'm so sorry," Lydia rambled. _Rambling?_ Since when did Lydia Kennedy ever _ramble?_ "I'm…"

She went into the closet and retrieved the vacuum, cleaning up the glass as quickly as she could before sitting down beside Barnes. Experimentally, she reached out to his shoulder, and he flinched, but then leanedinto her touch. She twisted her fingers across the area near his shoulder blade, pressing into knots and trying to relieve some of the tension. "I didn't mean to scare you, or freak you out with the vase. I'm just... _I can't believe_ they're going to my parents. And I can't...we can't stop them. We have to let them do this." Shaking her head, Lydia shifted gears and asked, "Does everyone call you Bucky, or just Steve?"

Barnes froze suddenly, and then made a strange noise. Lydia blinked, and then her cheeks reddened when she realized it was a laugh. "Steve, mostly," he answered. "And my Ma. She used to, unless she was mad at me for something." Lydia sensed him hesitate before he spoke up again. "Uh, you can too. If you want. You can call me Bucky."

"You don't sound very convincing. It's okay, though," Lydia insisted.

"No, really," Barnes interjected. "I just...Steve and my mom, they made me feel safe. I want to feel safe again. Does that make sense?

Lydia nodded. "Of course."

Bucky looked over at her from his spot on the bed. "Thank you," he said. "For taking me with you, and for talking to me. I'm glad I'm not alone."

With the tiniest of smiles, Lydia replied, "I'm glad I'm not alone either."

 **a/n:** I checked this for typos but there probably still are some, pls forgive me. I'm so so grateful for all of the reviews this story got! to **emsalter32** specifically: I don't have a specific update schedule, but I will definitely try to update once every 1-2 weeks next summer.

Please continue giving feedback! I love you all uwu


	3. paracosmic

**a/n:** quick trigger warning for guns, PTSD, general angst, and I guess some stuff that could be considered sacrilege (not like demons, just comparison of people to gods and stuff)

 **iii.** _paracosmic_

Lydia was a smart woman.

Honestly, she should've figured it out sooner.

It was such a frivolous thing to worry about, and she was so worried about dying or getting arrested, but now that she was staring it right in the face, it seemed like a problem.

 _It_ , was Bucky's back. Next to her. In bed. Neither of them were sleeping, intensely aware of the other. But she already said they could share the bed if he was okay with it, and so there they were. Sharing a bed.

Honestly, not only was this more uncomfortable than junior prom, but it was _stupid_ too. Barnes-Bucky, whatever-was unpredictable, and he'd only just been snapped out of his mind control. Not only was it possible, but it was _probable_ that he had nightmares. Lydia had no experience with it, but she would guess that metal arms and bad dreams didn't go well together.

Maybe he wouldn't sleep because she was staring at him. His back. Same thing.

She rolled over so that she was looking out the window. It was a full moon, and it looked almost pink against the vast expanse of the night sky. Moon was _luna_ was _lunatic_ was crazy. Reckless. Without control. What she'd done-slamming the vase on the floor-had been reckless. Lydia didn't have time for irresponsible mistakes. Of the two, Bucky already reserved the right to be scared. She needed to stay focused for both their sakes.

Her stomach rolled with fear for her family, and Lydia squeezed her eyes shut tighter, a hand coming up to sift through the end of her loose braid. She was furious and horrified, but needed to remain still for fear of being shot. Was this what deer wondered, while they watched their family shot down by hunters?

She burned to know.

She flipped back over when her arm fell asleep, so that she was back staring at Bucky's shoulders. The part where skin met weapon was smooth, she wanted to run her fingers over it and see if it felt as effortless as it looked, as it most certainly was not. She wanted to feel the metal beneath her fingers, sense it was real. _Is this_ , she thought, _what it is like to sleep next to a god?_ Here was a myth made reality, a ghost. The Winter Soldier. Radiating heat as he lay in bed, muscles tensed and brain awake, Lydia wanted to clutch him, see if he was real, make _sure_ that this was not a hallucination. If this was it, if she was locked in a motel along an interstate with a hoard of agents chasing after her, she wanted to know it was real.

 _This is denial_ , she said to herself. _There are five stages of grief, the first is denial. What am I grieving?_ Would it be stupid to grieve an organization? SHIELD could be shady but at least it was stable. _Was_ stable. Now, it had decomposed into ashes.

Lydia closed her eyes again. Phantoms kissed her neck as gusts of cold air blew from the air conditioner. She willed herself into a slumber for an hour or so, until a violent growl woke her. Instinctively, Lydia kicked the sheets off and landed on her feet, grabbing for a lamp and turning it on. Bucky was sitting up, hair askew and eyes half-lidded.

"I can't sleep," he mumbled.

Lydia pinched her palm, hands folded together. He sounded so young, as if the angels warring with the demons inside his soul had taken a victory for a moment.

She remembered it being like this after she was kidnapped. Even if she was in her own bed, with Bianca in the next room on break from school, Lydia felt hands around her throat. Fists burying themselves in her stomach. The scars from the rope burns remained even after her broken ribs healed. Every time she woke herself from a nightmare, she felt an ache in her creaking bones, the armor around her lungs and heart suddenly weary. It was six months of therapy and recovery living at home before SHIELD agreed to re-evaluate her. She did not pass.

 _Insomnia. A habitual inability to sleep._ Why did all of her thoughts occur to her as definitions? Lydia wanted to scream. Shatter the windows, jump out, _splat_ and be done with it. She swallowed the invasive invitations and stared down at Bucky, who refused to make eye contact and was clutching the tops of the sheets in each fist. Carefully, she perched herself on the edge of the bed and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Okay.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Bucky's features twitched and Lydia could tell he was having an idea, but he didn't open his mouth to say a word.

"Tell me, Bucky. Please. Just...I want you to be able to sleep." She leaned over closer to him without touching, body shivering as a chill possessed it.

"Could you...just, sit with me? I... _god."_ His voice cracked dishearteningly. "I don't know. You're treating me like I'll snap."

Taking a deep breath, Lydia tried to gather her thoughts, eventually saying, "I'm sorry, if you think I'm trying to alienate you. I'm not. I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or provoke you somehow."

"Goddammit," Bucky swore. "I just don't want you to be afraid of me." He cursed again under his breath, but it sounded like another language. "I mean...I'm not _that._ But I know you're worried. I can see it. I don't know how to stop it. But you're looking at me like I'm a bomb about to go off."

"I'm not afraid of you, okay? It's the other guy. I don't wanna do or say anything to bring him back out." Hesitantly, Lydia leaned over and placed her hand on his shoulder, encouraged when he leaned into the touch to move closer. "We just need to trust each other. I trust you, okay? I'm worried about him, but I know you're a good guy." She crossed her legs and flattened her back against the backboard. "You're safe," she soothed, trailing the hand down his arm, fingers pressing onto the nerves, now starkly awake. "It's okay." She dragged her fingers down to his pulse, counting to fifteen in her head and tapping out the number of beats on her knee. Elevated.

Before she could convince herself not to, Lydia slipped her hand down to lace it through his. Bucky stared at it intensely for a moment and then shifted around to fit into the bed more comfortably.

Lydia wasn't sure what to do next. This wasn't familiar territory. A ton of weird things had happened to her-alien invasions, the Hulk, a dick of a Norse god, kidnapping, and the entire destruction of her life, to name a few-but lying in a motel bed face-to-face with her fellow threat to national security was somehow the most jarring. Bucky had a sort of muscular beauty, the kind found in marble statues of Hellenistic gods-tough and broad until one got closer, and then there were eyelashes and sorrowful eyes, and a holiness found almost exclusively in religious icons, something both intangible and inevitable. _That's ridiculous,_ Lydia told herself. _Things are inevitable. Events are inevitable. Not people._

He should've been a hero. This was all anachronistic. Ninety five years old, American war hero, in a motel, assassin, lying next to a stranger.

For another quiet moment, she considered his features. If the atmosphere changed, if they were somewhere else, sometime else, under other conditions, she'd probably flirt with him. If they stared at each other across a bar or a table, anywhere but this nightmare. Beneath her diaphragm, a match was lit. A flame of longing began to burn. Lydia wanted to take the scene apart and build up another set, with the two of them the same distance apart-this was both the haziness of his handsomeness and the yearning to go back, retrogress, revert back into a psychologist with a stable job and an apartment.

"You can't fall asleep," she said suddenly, "if you don't close your eyes." She raised her eyebrows to emphasize the teasing nature of her comment, and then bit her lip while she braced herself for his reaction.

The corner of Bucky's lip twitched a little, _almost_ smiling. Reluctantly, his eyelids slid shut. She wanted to cry, or kiss his eyelashes, or rocket into the sun. Lydia complained about poets too often to have such lyrical thoughts. Her emotions filled her to the point where they threatened to spill out over the top, like water boiling, only she maintained a careful routine of replacing the lid right before they could.

It took an hour, but his breathing finally evened out and quieted. Lydia followed, away from a pitch-black sky tossed with glittering stars, into a pipe dream, home, safe. Nothing was burning.

* * *

At five forty-seven, the sun rose and Bucky Barnes was awake, doing pushups next to his side of the bed, grunting and attempting to sort everything out in his head. Lydia did the same, still curled around a pillow, attempting to work out her plan. She went over the steps from yesterday: lay low, stay updated on the news, and make it to California. If things blew over, she'd call Steve or Darcy or Tony, and they'd pick her up, and things could go back to normal. Things _had_ to blow over.

Abruptly, Lydia sat up in bed. "I'm hungry," she said suddenly. "Are you hungry?"

Bucky paused midway through a pushup. "Kind of, yeah. I haven't had anything since I snapped out of it."

There were granola bars in Lydia's backpack, enough to keep them alive for a few days. But she craved something more than that, deciding, "I'm gonna go downstairs and check the vending machines."

"I'll come with you," Bucky said suddenly, having sat up and towelled the sweat off his face. He stood up to his full height, and Lydia was sure it was the first time he'd done so in her presence. She almost toppled over when he stood up next to her. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky seemed to notice her reaction and slumped down.

"It's okay," she assured him quickly. "You surprised me is all. Somehow, I can't believe people bothered trying to fight you."

"You should've seen them with Steve. He never wanted to kill them, but he always got attacked by eight at a time. When he got...bigger, I mean. And he wore that uniform too. It was never good for camouflage."

"I believe that," Lydia laughed. She remembered a similar reaction with the Chitauri, or when the team had rushed to San Francisco to prevent a robot takeover. The monsters paid little attention to the US troops deployed, instead rushing straight for the people with powers.

Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Lydia made sure she had anything important on her person in case cleaning services came through. She somehow doubted that this dingy motel had anything spectacular, but Lydia preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

Bucky seemed to sense what she was doing, as he slipped on his hoodie and buried a selection of weapons inside it, to the point where Lydia couldn't actually see them unless she looked closely. The excessive artillery-and even more, how well it was sheathed-made her somewhat uneasy.

They took the stairs down wordlessly. Lydia exited first, pasting a giddy smile on her lips and turning around to tell Bucky whatever random thought occurred to her, for the sake of the security cameras.

"I love that album," she gushed. "My favorite song is the one where she's singing about her boyfriend who cheated on her, and she's really kind of _fuck-you_ about it, you know?"

"I don't," Bucky answered, confused.

Lydia shrugged him off. "Honestly, why do men have something against...Taylor Swift," she rebuffed, spitting out the only musician she could think of on the spot.

" _Who?"_ Bucky asked. Lydia shook her head, grabbing his hand and dragging him around the building towards the vending machines.

"What do you want, babe?"

A beat later, he answered, "Your pick, doll."

Lydia inhaled sharply, but not so much that he would notice it. The pet name rolled off his tongue flirtatiously, and it was something she hadn't, at all, been prepared for. "Are you sure?" she asked, when they'd gone quiet for a second too long. This time, her words were real.

"Pick something good," he told her with a smile.

She grinned cheekily at him and turned back to the machine. In the glass, she saw something familiar reflecting.

The barrel of a gun.

A bullet flew out, missing her head by inches and shattering the glass.

 _Caught._

 **a/n:** I'm quite devious with cliffhangers, I know. Please excuse typos! Big thank yous to bluepenquin1998 (warrioreyess on tumblr), jabberwocking (unsaved princesses on tumblr), and Emilia Christine (emiliachrstine) for letting me scream at them about this fic. Please come talk to me about Lydia and Lucky (Lydia/Bucky) and I'll probably tell you spoilers or headcanons and we can all cry together, I'm so conceited I literally love talking about this fic so much. Hit me up on either of my tumblrs ( **wndamxmf is my main, suethor is for writing particularly)** , and if you leave a review I will probably cry and print it out and hang it up above my desk. mwah.

Up next: iv. _civil blood makes civil hands unclean_

 _There was a distinct lack of uneasiness in her stomach. When Lydia looked him in the eyes, she asked, "Are you okay?"_

 _Bucky stared back at her, chaos flaring in his irises. "Are_ you _?"_


	4. civil blood makes civil hands unclean

iv. _civil blood makes civil hands unclean_

There was a gun in her hands, pointed at the ground. Or, more accurately, a body on the ground.

"Lydia?"

Who was that? _Bucky_ , she reminded herself. _The reformed Soviet assassin you dragged along. Bucky Barnes. American war hero. Winter Soldier. Childhood friend of Steve Rogers._

"Lydia, give me the gun."

She didn't.

"Lydia, he's gone. Just hand it to me, okay?"

Reluctantly, she flipped it over and emptied cartridge. Before facing him, she flicked off the safety. It was so big in her hands, metal and dangerous. He took it with ease, and only after it was gone did Lydia realize how heavy it had weighed against her palms.

The body on the floor had been seizing a moment before. Now, it stilled. She cringed a little.

There was a distinct lack of uneasiness in her stomach. When she looked him in the eyes, she asked him, "Are you okay?"

Bucky stared back at her, chaos flaring in his irises. "Are _you?"_

* * *

 _Earlier._

The barrel of a gun.

A bullet flew out, missing her head by inches and shattering the glass.

 _Caught._

She grappled for Bucky's hand, but he was ahead of her, jumping in front of her and pushing her down. "Stop! You're not bulletproof!" she insisted, but he was already dragging her out of the line of fire, by some miracle dodging the flurry of bullets coming their way.

"They found me," he said. Something seemed to occur to him. "The girl. Was there a girl at the counter? Just now, was she there?"

Lydia shook her head. "No. No girl. It was empty. And there wasn't a sign saying she was out."

" _Dammit._ She's probably dead by now." He looked over his shoulder, and turned back to her. "Do we have an escape plan?"

"Yeah," Lydia said. "The plan is, you give me a weapon, and we fight our way out of here. We can't hide. They'll just corner us, and there aren't any fire escapes on the balconies."

All the conditioning from the Academy came back to her, and Lydia ran through the steps. She double-knotted her shoe laces, brushed her hair out of her face (honestly, thank _god_ she'd put it up this morning) and held out her hand for a weapon. Bucky hesitated, until another hail of bullets flew closer to them. He dug into his jacket and pulled out a gun. "That's full," he told her. "I'm going in. Stay here unless they close in."

"You aren't bulletproof," she repeated.

"I'm more bulletproof than you."

"Dammit," she cursed, as a shot hit a pile of empty boxes and sent a few flying in their direction. "How many do you count?"

"Three. Probably more on the way."

"Fan _tastic_ ," she drawled. "Go."

Lydia crouched over in a more launch-ready position, and slipped around a side entrance back into the lobby. It was a risk, but she scampered across to the other side of the room, towards the counter. When she saw the body, she gasped impulsively. The girl, bored before but now forever surprised, lay with her throat slit open, a hand with painted nails resting over her heart. "Oh my god," she whispered, inspecting the body for a moment to see if they'd taken anything. It didn't look like they'd left a trademark, just a cut throat from behind, and probably using a blade rather than string. Lydia made the stupid decision of putting her gun down for a second while she gingerly lifted the body to see if there was anything on the back, only to have it kicked away from her and her throat seized.

She gagged against her attacker's forearm, throwing her elbow down into their solar plexus, and wrapping a foot around their ankle, tugging forward as hard as she could. The assailant slipped, falling to the ground in time for Lydia to try scrabbling for her gun. They-he, Lydia could see now-rolled over, grabbing her ankle and-

" _Stupid bitch, stay down!"_

Lydia kicked him in the face, feeling his nose crack beneath the sole of her shoe. With a grunt, she propelled herself forward and secured the weapon in her hands. She gripped it tightly between her fingers and pulled up off the floor, aiming it at the man lying at her feet. She pulled the trigger, and blood splattered from his shoulder.

She didn't have time to pause and finish the job. Lydia threw the front door open, inhaling sharply for a second, and then promptly getting knocked to the ground by another attacker. " _Fuck_ ," she groaned as she toppled to the gravel, head hitting the surface of the parking lot with a resounding _thump._ The attacker whipped around, wrapping her in a chokehold and squeezing. Lydia tried to elbow him, but it didn't work as well with her vision clouding over. She flinched when the assailant hit her on the top of the head again, the lack of oxygen started to fuzz the sounds around her. It felt like everything was underwater.

Lydia and her family had gone to the beach once, and she could acutely remember the stupid decision she made jumping into the sea without water wings. Bianca was tiny, and her parents were too busy trying to make sure that she was ready that they didn't notice Lydia's flailing arms. Her ribcage expanded with the last gulp of air she managed, before collapsing and letting her sink to the bottom. _Traitor_ , she thought of them. Only seven, she'd just learned that word, it felt coincidental that she'd come to discover it just a few days before needing to use it. Was there a word for that? That odd coincidentality? She watched bubbles slip from her lips, sinking deeper and deeper, and why did the bubbles float but not her? She needed to rise more than they did.

Her eyes slipped shut, until a lifeguard came plummeting into the water next to her, nearly kicking her in the head as she dragged her up. The boom was quieted by the water, and watching the waves roll from below almost seemed peaceful, if not for the searing pain in her lungs and back and throat.

At present, she was also suffocating, and also felt like she was underwater, but did not feel any observational peace. No lyrical notings.

Just like the day at the beach, a loud thundering alerted her of her rescue. Metal fist collided with human skull, sputtering- _was that a_ tooth _he just spit into my hair?_ Lydia gasped for oxygen as the man fell away, his grip with him. " _Oh my god_ ," she gasped, gulping up air greedily.

She was on her feet, wobbling and resting against the side of the building to keep from falling over. As she regained her bearings, she managed to make out Bucky and the man wrestling on the ground a few yards away, and another deceased (or at least badly injured) man a few feet away. Lydia scanned the blacktop for her own gun, but couldn't find it. Thinking quickly, she reached over to the unconscious (dead?) man and took a pistol from his holster.

Gaze drifting over to Bucky, she noticed that he was now with a knife pressed to his throat, and words being whispered into his ear. " _Stop_ ," he grunted, and Lydia guessed it was something about the words, rather than the knife. An assassin _had_ to have a better backup plan than a request to _please refrain from pressing that blade to my jugular_.

She lifted the gun up into the air, firing a single shot up into the horizon and _dear god when that bullet comes down I hope it isn't near me_.

The man's lips froze. He turned towards Lydia, shielding his torso with Bucky. Lydia pointed the pistol at his head.

"Are you gonna shoot through your friend?" he asked. "Is that wise? You've only just met, it would be a shame to muddle the relationship this early on. Give it time to grow before you stamp on it with your heel. Make it much more- _satisfying_ ," he teased, pressing the knife harder into Bucky's throat. "Drop your gun, Doctor."

"I don't think so," Lydia answered, though she didn't really have a plan to get out of this.

Luckily for her, Bucky did.

He drove his heel back into the man's shin, which, _wow, okay_ was way more effective than Lydia would've guessed it was. Quick to react, the man leaned back to poise himself for kicking Bucky's stomach.

Leaning back and leaving himself wide open.

Lydia took the opportunity in front of her, aiming the gun at his neck and pulling the trigger twice. He fell to the floor, twitching and seizing.

Staring at his thrashing body, Lydia lost herself. A series of thoughts occurred to her-about her hardcover copy of Peter Pan, her favorite childhood cartoon, lacrosse practices, her best friend from kindergarten, her parents- _oh god, her parents-_ Bianca's baby photos, graduation from the Academy, Natasha's red hair, and a pair of striped socks.

There was a gun in her hands, pointed at the ground. Or, more accurately, a body on the ground.

"Lydia?"

Who was that? _Bucky_ , she reminded herself. _The reformed Soviet assassin you dragged along. Bucky Barnes. American war hero. Winter Soldier. Childhood friend of Steve Rogers._

"Lydia, give me the gun."

She didn't.

"Lydia, he's gone. Just hand it to me, okay?"

Reluctantly, she flipped it over and emptied cartridge. Before facing him, she flicked off the safety. It was so big in her hands, hot and metal and dangerous. He took it with ease, and only after it was gone did Lydia realize how heavy it had been against her palms.

The body on the floor had been seizing a moment before. Now, it stilled. She cringed a little.

There was a distinct lack of uneasiness in her stomach. When she looked him in the eyes, she asked him, "Are you okay?"

Bucky stared back at her, chaos flaring in his irises. "Are _you?"_

When the fog of thoughts cleared, Lydia realized, "Yeah. I'm-I'm okay. Let's go."

Before he could say anything, she pulled him over to the car and plugged the keys into the ignition, speeding down the desolate highway- _goodbye, hotel_ ( _everything I touch dies)_ -and towards the split in the upcoming hills. She didn't pause to consider the speed limit, and didn't actually get around to buckling her seatbelt until a mile had passed.

"Why didn't you let me?" Bucky asked quietly.

Lydia's brow furrowed, but it didn't stop her from jamming the gas pedal further into the carmat. "Let you what?"

"Let me...finish him. I've done it before. I can...I know how to deal with that."

"I worked as an agent, before...before I stopped-" _nice going, Kennedy_ , "-and I've killed people before, too." _Like, three people. And you couldn't see their faces._ "It's not something I do often. Really. It's been...a while. But if I need to, I will."

He stared wordlessly ahead at the desert.

"Do you trust me?" Lydia asked him.

A beat or two passed before he answered. "I don't know. I don't have a choice, do I?" He laughed; she couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. "You seem trustworthy, though."

"That's what matters, right? I _seem_ trustworthy." She cocked a grin in his direction. "Let's go to California, then. It'll be fun. If we don't die, we can see a movie."

Bucky chuckled, still looking out the window. "Whatever you say, doll."

* * *

It took a day and a half, sleeping in the car, surviving solely on red bull infused coffee and protein bars. Lydia could barely remember Bella's address as she rolled past the sunny _Welcome to Los Angeles!_ sign on the road. Something in Manhattan Beach. God, it had been so long since she'd visited, and Lydia desperately needed to sleep. She was reminded of this when, for the eighth time in the past three hours, she charged full-speed over a speed bump.

Next to her, Bucky stirred out of his slumber.

"Shit. Sorry," she said. "Go back to sleep."

"Do you want me to drive?" he offered.

" _Can_ you drive?"

"...no."

"Then, no, don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."

God knew one of them needed the rest. Good thing he was getting it, because she was useless in a fight at this point, blinking so often she spent more time with her eyes closed than open.

"What time is it?" she asked him, eyes lasered on the street signs.

"Twenty-one-hundred," he answered, winking one eye open and resting his head back against the window. "I've never been to California," he mumbled, voice hoarse from sleep.

Christ. Everything he said sounded like an innuendo when he said it like _that_.

 _No, stop_ , she insisted. _That's just your sleep-deprived brain. He's hot, but you aren't actually-eyes on the road, Lydia!_

She swerved back into the right lane, having caught herself drifting left.

"It's nice. Sunny in the south, not as much near the coast. And the Stars-they really are like us!" she mimicked. _Wait._ "Nevermind. It's from a magazine."

"You're a real different person when you haven't slept in days," Bucky remarked. Lydia spared a smiled.

"Yeah...this probably isn't legal. I shouldn't be allowed to drive with this little sleep."

"You shot someone at a motel yesterday," he pointed out.

"That's true," she agreed. "And we're both terrorists, according to the news."

"Also true."

(If she were more conscious, she probably would've caught how inappropriate the joke was and kept it from escaping her lips. Unfortunately, she was not.)

"In all fairness, this is probably the most legal thing we've done at all," Lydia added.

Another hour passed, and she flicked on the radio. The news had stopped reporting on them as often, instead focusing on a series of riots happening in Texas. _Shocker_ , she thought, every time the reports mentioned someone being shot. There was still the occasional _authorities need you to be on the lookout for an Indian woman named Lydia Kennedy, and a man named Bucky Barnes. Highly dangerous!_ but it wasn't as frequent.

She had no doubt that even if the news had moved on, SHIELD's remains, or HYDRA, or someone was still out there looking for her. And maybe even her parents. The agencies hadn't released any of the files or information of the house search online, according to an internet search using a swiped library card. The pale fuckshit who conducted her interview hadn't made any press appearances as-of-late either.

That was probably a good thing, as Lydia would've likely tried to track him down and kill him, which wouldn't help her case in the slightest.

They made it onto the Pacific Highway by eleven at night ("Twenty-three hundred, Kennedy,"), and Lydia observed the pier markings as they passed them. Bucky spent a lot of time staring at the Santa Monica theme park, glowing bright against the darkened horizon.

"It looks kinda like Coney Island," he told her. "Steve and I used to go there a lot, and he'd get sick on all the rides." He laughed fondly at the memory. "Did he ever...talk to you about me?"

"Sometimes," Lydia replied. "Doctor-patient confidentiality dictates that I can't say what he said, but yeah. He missed you. I could tell that from outside the sessions. He would go to the museum exhibit and look at your memorial for hours on end."

"I saw it." Bucky paused, tilting his gaze away from the sea and towards the road in front of them. "The exhibit. Real nice thing they've got there."

"They started a comic book series about you guys. In the eighties. Peggy Carter had a giant, yellow perm. And her name was Betty Carver. The epitome of the damsel-in-distress."

"That….does not sound like Peggy. I only met her once, but she was definitely not that."

Lydia grinned despite the quiet, taking the exit off the freeway and driving for another half hour until she turned into Bella's street. She parked down the block, gathering her things and leaving the keys on the dash. Bucky shoved some stuff haphazardly into Lydia's backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and zipping up his hoodie.

"Whose house are we going to?" he asked.

"A friend of mine. From college."

Lydia clicked the car door open, stepping out and collapsing under the weight of her own torso. _Sleep._ Now that she was here, her migraine intensified and her eyes slid shut. If she didn't get inside somewhere now, she'd just pass out.

"Whoa," someone said, and she noticed Bucky at her side, a hand encircling her waist without making contact. "Are you okay?"

"M'okay. Just tired. Let's go."

Lydia stumbled down the block, then up Bella's steps. When she rang the doorbell, a dog rushed up to the side gate, snarling at them. She jutted an accusing finger at it. "Bad dog," she said. Footsteps padded towards the door, the bolt-lock slipping out of place. It swung open, revealing a familiar face.

"Bella!" Lydia exclaimed, throwing her arms around her. "I'm not a terrorist, I promise. Neither is he."

"I know," Bella answered. Another woman appeared behind her, inquiring about who was at the door at _this-ungodly-hour?_ "It's okay, babe, these are my friends from college. I guess it's a surprise visit?" She lowered her voice and continued, "Haven't you seen the news?"

"No." Lydia shook her head furiously. "We've been driving... _so much driving."_

"Are you...don't hurt me, are you drunk?"

Lydia shook her head again. "I'm so _tired._ What's on the news?"

"Black Widow, this morning. She told the press everything, released a bunch of files online. Chasing after you was the stunt HYDRA pulled to cover it up." She opened the door wider, and it felt like she was pulling open a gate, destroying a dam, and relief now rushed over Lydia. "Come inside."

She stepped over the threshold, collapsing and sobbing. The wood floor felt like holy ground.

* * *

 **a/n:** Thank you all so much for your enthusiastic responses to last chapter's cliffhanger. You're the best tbh. The title of this chapter is from the beginning of _Romeo and Juliet,_ if you were wondering!

I'm really excited about finishing this chapter, because it's really where the exposition finishes and the plot/arcs kick off, a.k.a get ready for the Angst and Pain.

If you're interested, I've set up a blog entirely dedicated to Lydia (I have so many things about her omg I had to move them over but anyways) you can find over at **inkblotsfanfic dot tumblr dot com** , or **inkblots dot co dot vu.** The blog _isn't_ spoiler free though, especially if you start exploring the pages. Other things on the blog include: my angsty 3 am Lucky drabbles, gifs/manips, and an ask box so you can send in questions. I also have a cast page featuring all the major characters in the series, as well as a list of ships, and a series guide summarizing all the stories I plan on writing in this universe.

I hope you guys all enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review on the way out!


	5. the silence in-between

**a/n:** trigger warning for panic attacks/PTSD.

v. _the silence in-between_

There was something strange, Lydia decided, about eating breakfast with a ghost. Two in the afternoon might have disqualified the meal from achieving _breakfast_ status, exactly, but since it featured eggs and sausage, she chose to identify it as such.

Across from her, Bucky ate slowly. He seemed to be rationing his food by eating the eggs now and bits of the sausage, but not touching the orange. Lydia imagined that the orange would last longer if it needed to be hidden away.

The oxymoronic nature of a mundane task such as eating breakfast getting crossed with all of the shit her life had been recently made her head spin. She'd prayed for normal, but a taste of sanity amplified the horrors of everything else.

"I tried the numbers you gave me," Bella announced, entering the room. "And they're all out of service."

She held out the piece of paper to Lydia, who took it between her thumb and forefinger and reevaluated the digits on the list. All of the numbers to the Avengers that she knew were secure lines. Deep down, she knew this would happen-all the numbers went through SHIELD, and if that was no more, the phone lines probably were as well. Together, she and Bucky had decided not to turn themselves into authorities to avoid the risk of it being a trap.

"What do we do now?" Bucky spoke up quietly from the other end of the table.

Lydia sighed. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but…" she heaved a lofty exhale. "I think we need to call Tony."

"Tony Stark?" Bella asked, glancing between the two of them with a panicky gaze. "Uh...okay."

"Can you find the number for Avengers Tower online? Maybe through press, or something?"

Bella nodded, leaning over and pulling out her laptop. As soon as she had the number, Lydia was dialing. JARVIS's familiar voice soon piped up over the phone, asking where to direct her call. "To Tony Stark or Pepper Potts. It's urgent."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, ma'am, unless you know the access code." _A fucking access code?_ Goddamn, Tony.

"I'm Tony's psychologist, put me through to him."

"I'm afraid I can't unless you can provide some form of iden-"

"My name is Lydia Kennedy. I have a sister named Bianca, I was injured in the field and declared unfit for work in 2006."

"All that information can be found in public domains due to the information dump that took place recently."

Lydia dropped her forehead onto the table, hanging up the phone. What was going to get their attention any more than HYDRA crap? Her eyes lit up with an idea. She grappled for the device again and redialed Stark tower. JARVIS repeated his _how-should-I-direct-your-call_ schtick. "I need to talk to Tony."

"I'm afraid-"

"The baby. I think it's his."

Lydia vaguely heard Bella choking on her water. This was accompanied by Bucky's fork dropping onto the table. Bella placed her water on the counter and made eye contact with Bucky to reassure him that _no,_ Lydia wasn't pregnant.

It was a far reach and a low blow, considering Tony's relationship with Pepper, but Lydia knew that she'd better start going to extremes if she needed Tony to pay attention. He had a tendency to zone out of the real world when he was focused on something else.

A dial tone signalled her call being transferred, and a second later, Pepper picked up the phone. "I'm not pregnant with your boyfriend's baby," Lydia announced. "Just, first of all. Second of all, this is Lydia."

"Lydia? Oh my _god_." Pepper sounded baffled by her voice. "Oh my god, where are you? Tony's been trying to track you but he's not having much luck, and he was going to ask Steve but he's been in the hospital unconscious for a few days, and even Nat was trying-"

"I'm in California. Can I give you the address?"

"Yes. Yes, the address. I'm gonna send...okay, I'm gonna send Tony and Clint to get you. I'd go myself, but I've been swamped all day trying to come up with an Avengers PR plan."

"It's fine," Lydia assured her. "I understand. Don't worry, Pepper."

A loud exhale was released from the phone. "I'm so glad you called. Stay safe, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

"Don't joke."

"I wasn't."

Pepper sighed again. "I see why you and Tony connected. They're on their way. Give them a few hours."

"Yes, ma'am." Lydia smiled softly. "Thank you. For everything."

The line went dead.

She put the phone down on the table and looked up. "They're gonna pick us up," Lydia told Bucky.

"Who?" he asked.

"Clint and Tony," she clarified. At his blank look, she continued, "Uh, they were at the Battle of New York? Um. They're friends of Steve." Upon hearing his name, Bucky seemed to blink back to life. Recognition.

"Do you think I'll...see Steve?"

Without hesitation, Lydia nodded. "As soon as he hears that you're back, he'll be hopping out of his hospital bed to see you."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "He was always a punk. Never thought about trouble before diving into it."

Lydia snorted. Both men seemed to talk about the other with words of disdain but an air of fondness. Almost complementary in the way they described their relationship. Ironically enough, Lydia had befriended the reformed assassin in less time than she did the charismatic kid from Brooklyn. Though, of course, the circumstances were different.

When Lydia met Steve Rogers a few years back, it was after he'd pummelled a dozen or so SHIELD agents in his escape and had just been dumped with the fact that he'd survived the crash and was now seventy years into the future.

Which, understandably, had freaked him the fuck out. Though he would probably try and put it into more tasteful words.

SHIELD had dragged his ass back to HQ and explained the situation to him before handing him a folder, a blank-faced agent who served as a chauffeur and grocery shopper, and a wallet of cash.

He was being towed out the building by a short bald man when Lydia rounded the corner, Clint on the other end of the phone she'd held.

"Dude, I don't know what to tell you. I didn't give them the radio segments to pick, I just tossed out a general idea for a plan. And I mean, why the hell don't they know what day the plane went down? Did _none_ of the agents on the case pay attention in American history? I mean, Jesus fuck." Captain's Day was practically a national holiday on par with Memorial and Veteran's day. How had eighteen agents messed up to that extent?

"If it went so poorly, why didn't you just do it yourself?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Clint, do you know what percent of New York was Asian in 1940?" He didn't answer, so she continued, "Less than a quarter of a percent. Point-two-four, if I'm being technical. That's, like, two people in every thousand. Let alone Indian and female."

She'd stopped to shuffle the file folders in her arms around so they would stop slipping. Mostly mission reports from the latest of Strike Team Delta. A request from Barton to stop by Dr. Foster's lab and make sure she'd been eating. Nothing out of the usual. And then, Captain America walked by her. The cell phone slipped from between her head and her shoulder, crashing to the floor. " _Shit!"_ Lydia whispered as it hit the ground and shattered the screen. Rogers stopped immediately, turning around and stepping over to try and help her out. "Sorry! Sorry. _Dammit."_ This was such a cliche. Top notch romantic-comedy intro, featuring the clutzy girl unsatisfied with her work-surrounded life, and the charming attractive male with good values.

 _Ugh_. If he continued this plot by offering to pay for a coffee, she was going to throw herself into the East River.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

Up close, she could see genuine concern in his blue eyes. His forehead creased with worry and his face-Christ, the face-seemed to analyze her when she made contact with it. This was Captain America, less than a foot away from her face, staring at her. The guy who she'd made a diorama about in fourth grade. Hell, she took a class about World War II in college that involved ten-page-papers on him. And now, he was in front of her, and she almost couldn't bear it. His hulking presence both dwarfed and overwhelmed her, as if he was some giant national monument that history buffs would get weepy about.

"I'm good, don't worry about it," Lydia had assured him, pasting on a professional but polite smile.

He'd stuck his hand out. "Steve Rogers."

"I thought so. I'm Doctor Kennedy. Or Lydia, either is fine." She frowned at the pile of glass spread out on the marble floor. "Anyways, sorry to keep you, but I'm okay. I'm sure you have somewhere to be." Actually, she was sure he would be forced to stay in his apartment for a few days, but Lydia had a long day, and all of the... _feelings_ his presence caused threatened to push her past her emotional exhaustion limits.

"Uh...yeah. Okay. It was nice meeting you, ma'am."

"You too, Captain."

He had nodded, and then stood up to head off with his agent. At the last second, he turned around. "I have your card."

Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, your business card. They gave it to me."

"Oh!" Lydia nodded vigorously. "Yeah, of course. Feel free to stop by if you need to talk about anything. My door is always open." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "It's back there, my door, I mean. Ask someone for help if you can't find it though."

Steve never did come by, not until he joined the Avengers and had to. They'd struck up a friendship only after the Battle of New York took place, when Lydia offered to take him out sans shadow-agent. She brought Darcy Lewis with her, sensing that Jane's assistant was itching to escape the lab. The trio walked around to all their favorite spots-Darcy's favorite book store, Lydia's favorite coffee shop. They also took care to show Steve places like the nearest grocery store and a basic introduction to the subway system.

Lydia had discovered a few weeks after Darcy moved into Avengers tower that she was almost like a therapy dog. Which sounded bad every time Lydia thought it to herself, but was true-her positive energy and irresistible personality led her to befriend all the Avengers in under a month. Before Lydia could discourage her with the _I don't know if you should take Bruce shopping_ talk, Darcy had already gotten into the habit of baking cakes to welcome them back from missions and memorized everyone's favorite ice cream flavors. It happened frequently, but Lydia was always shocked to find her joking around with Nat in the hallways of the tower.

As Lydia chewed on her food, she found herself hoping Darcy was okay. She hoped that HYDRA had stayed the hell away from her. Taking a sip of her coffee, she turned to Bucky and said, "I'm sorry about Tony, in advance." She rolled her eyes. "He's intense." Lydia realized something then, when a spoonful of eggs halfway into her mouth. "Did you know his father? Howard Stark?"

Bucky furrowed his brow for a moment. His gaze dropped to his plate, he mumbled something about meeting him once or twice, but continued averting Lydia's eyes.

Had they not gotten along? Clearly, Bucky wasn't fond of him. Something happened, but Lydia didn't pry. If he wasn't gonna open up about it, she wouldn't push him to.

Bella flipped on the TV in the adjoining living room. "Hey," she said. "You guys are on the news again."

Lydia turned her eyes to the screen, where a man clutched a microphone in front of his mouth and pictures of Lydia and Bucky appeared in the corners. "Authorities suspect that the missing persons' cases of these two people, the infamous Winter Soldier responsible for the DC attacks, and Avengers psychologist Lydia Kennedy, are linked."

"Glad we've been upgraded from hostile forces to missing persons," Lydia scoffed. She turned back around in her seat, to find Bucky glaring holes into the TV screen. "Hey," she said, voice softening. "Are you okay?"

The correspondent continued, "The Winter Soldier, according to the recently released SHIELD files, is credited with more than twenty assassinations…"

Oh _fuck_.

"Can you turn that off?" Lydia asked Bella.

In a flash, Bucky shot up from his chair and made a beeline for the front door. Only when it had slammed shut did Lydia follow suit. If he wanted to be alone, she would let him, but she made sure to peek out the window to ensure he wasn't taking off down the street for some reason. Weekly jogs weren't enough conditioning to allow her to keep pace with him on foot.

He was collapsed on the steps up to the front porch, eyes locked shut and fist wrapped around one of the banisters of the porch. Lydia realized his metal arm was out in the open, and, acting on instinct, she balled up the hoodie in her hands and opened the door.

She stepped outside and kneeled down slowly next to him with the intention of making this conversation as quick as possible. "Hey," she whispered, and he froze. "I'm not gonna make you talk to me or anything, I'm just gonna give you the hoodie, and you can put it on if you want." Even if she didn't say it, Lydia knew he would up it on. A brain trained not to get caught wasn't going to reveal his silver arm to suburban Los Angeles. Straightening up, Lydia added, "It wasn't you. I've only known you for three days, but I know that it wasn't you." Halfway inside the door, she turned around. "And take deep breaths, okay? I'm leaving now."

The door clicked shut, but Lydia didn't lock it. She took a seat next to Bella on the couch, and the woman dropped a head against her shoulder. "Man," she said. "You must be exhausted."

"Believe me when I say that I am," Lydia returned, reclining so she was slouching against the back of the couch. "It's been a long few days."

Bella quieted. "When did you run into...him?"

"Bucky? He was in the alley behind my apartment, and I was running down the fire escape, and it was dark. I think I kicked him. In my defense, though, I thought he was a trash bag." She made a face, and then laughed a little at the story. "Then I stole a car and sort of...kidnapped him.

"You really expanded your, uh... _skill set_ after graduation," Bella remarked. "What _happened?_ How did you become the Hulk's therapist?"

Lydia let out a pent-up sigh. "Well, it's a long story, but I went to the SHIELD ops academy after graduation. I can tell you this, right? Probably, since it's all on the internet now, but anyways, I was supposed to be a field agent until something happened on my first mission and I was declared unfit for field work. So I got a masters in psychology and worked as a therapist for the team I was supposed to join, and then I worked my way up." She shrugged. "There's more, but I mean, those are all the interesting parts." She nudged Bella with her elbow. "What about you? How have you been since I last saw you?"

It had been eight years since the two last met up, but Lydia had seen all the updates on facebook. Proposal, new house, new dog. The quaint idyllic was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

"Eh. I got married, so that's fun." She snorted. "I'm kidding. Being married is awesome. I'm in love and I'm happy. And I have a dog, but he's outside because men scare him." She smiled dreamily. "We've been considering adoption, but Leigh wants to make sure we have a set financial plan and all that."

Lydia felt a pang of nostalgia. She missed her parents. She wanted them back. The itch to pick up the phone and dial them grew stronger, but she did her best to fight it. Not until she was back in New York with the promise that she wouldn't go to jail. Until she knew she wouldn't be dragging them into her mess. Thoughts of her father's laugh lines and her mother's cooking gnawed like a beast, eating up her self control. Like a loose screw, Lydia's system of sanity threatened to break at any moment, dragging the rest of her with it. What would be left after the dust settled? A pile of bones and viscera and the clothes on her back, no composure, no control. The fire in her lungs wasn't helping, and it glowed a brighter shade of gold every time she caught Bucky's eye.

The person in question slipped through the open door and disappeared down the hallway. Lydia didn't see much of him, but she noticed the hoodie on his shoulders.

When a half hour passed without any sight of him, Lydia assumed he'd locked himself in the guest bedroom that Bella offered them. She walked by every twenty minutes or so, pressing her ear against the door until she heard him breathing.

She knew he was aware of her checking up on him. All his training meant that he never usually respired audibly, so he was clearly raising the volume of his breath every time Lydia's never-light-enough footsteps padded down the hall.

A few hours passed where Lydia distracted herself with reruns of TV shows she used to watch, but had stopped once she took on the whole team as clients. _Parks and Rec_ had gotten good sometime after she'd stopped paying for cable. Halfway through her seventh episode, a sharp rapping at the door drew her away from the TV. The door clicked open and Tony Stark and Clint Barton stepped in.

"You know," Tony said, "your door really shouldn't be left unlocked." His smirk, to Lydia's horror, was almost comforting. Tony rolled his eyes, then dropped the corners of his lips. "Do you know how many StarkPhones you've destroyed at this point? Seven. I'm revoking your phone privileges."

"The phone move was smart," Barton contradicted. "Tony's just upset that you keep destroying his tech while your iPod remains intact." He slung an arm over Lydia's shoulders casually. She knew better than to say something about it. Clint didn't like to admit he could feel things. Of course. It was characteristic of spies to ignore such petty things as emotions.

"We'll be having a discussion about that, by the way," Tony decided pointedly. "You're clearly prejudiced against Stark technology, and I'd like to know why."

Mid-eyeroll, Lydia hard Bella pipe up from behind her, "Do you guys want water?"

"That would be fantastic," Tony answered, pasting on a grin and pointing at her enthusiastically. His whole demeanor changed in under a second, into something decidedly less-Tony. This must've been Pepper's public personality grooming in action.

"I'm good, thanks," Clint added. Turning back to Lydia, he asked, "Where's the soldier?"

" _Barnes_ is down the hall." When Clint made a move towards the guest room, Lydia stuck an arm out in front of him. "Whoa, Barton. Stop. You'll scare him."

Eyebrow arched, the spy replied, " _He's_ the one that's gonna be scared?"

"That wasn't him," she responded. "Come on, Clint. He was being controlled." Neither said anything, but Lydia knew he was thinking about Loki. The days he'd spent under Thor's brother's control had left Clint with nightmare-plagued sleep and guilt he couldn't seem to shake. Reaching out, Lydia took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "I'll get him, okay? Don't scare Bella, don't fight with Tony, and don't shoot anything."

"Such little faith in me," Barton chastised, shaking his head. "After all we've been through..." he reminisced with faux-nostalgia.

Lydia gave him a push on her way to the guest bedroom. She tapped the door a few times, resting her ear against the door and closing her eyes. "Bucky? I'm gonna come in, okay?"

Twisting the knob, Lydia pushed the door open. Bucky's back was to her and the jacket was discarded next to him on the bed. His arm was exposed and it hung limply from its joint at his shoulder, as if he'd tried to discard it as well.

She sat down next to him, legs crossed, elbows resting on her knees. "Are you okay?"

The question might've been repetitive, but Lydia was trying to make up for lost time. How long had it been since someone was concerned for his feelings? _He's a person_ , she thought to herself. Even if he ended up like Clint, refusing to admit to it, he had feelings. This man, _the great and terrible Winter Soldier_ had a heart that broke. He was capable of tears and his heart was drenched with loss until it weighed down like a brick.

"None of this is okay." Bucky's voice cracked. "I...there's never gonna be a day where I'm not reminded of this. Of everything I did."

Lydia shut her eyes, afraid she might actually begin to cry. This swell of empathy crested over her like a tsunami, beautiful on paper but tearing her apart. "You can't blame yourself. You can't go back in time and fix it. You were never responsible. This was never your fault, and it will never be your fault."

Bucky took a silent breath, but Lydia could see his chest rising and falling. There was still an exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide in his lungs. He was still alive. Simplistic inhales and exhales served as a subtle reminder to her that the man next to her was just that-a man. As vulnerable as any other in the world. Bullets could pierce his skin and shatter him like glass, he had been broken and shovelled back together but the pieces weren't quite in the correct positions. "I still remember it," Bucky finally whispered "I remember all of them."

Hesitantly, Lydia offered her palm out to him. A beat passed, and she almost feared rejection when Bucky began to lift his hand up and rest it on hers. His fingertips, calloused, brushed against the ball of her hand and a shock ran through her veins. The door flew open.

"We should head out," Clint announced. The tension in the room that made Lydia's skin buzz dissipated. She spared a look in Bucky's direction and the fire reminded her of its presence. "Nat and Steve are waiting for us back at the Tower, and I think Tony's starting to scare your friend."

Lydia shot up off the bed. "Jesus Christ, Tony. Alright." Clint nodded and left the room. Dropping a hand onto Bucky's shoulder, she asked, "Will you be good until we're back in New York?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered. Lydia bit her lip to silence her demons. They hissed at her to promise him something, _anything_ , just to keep him sane.

She kept quiet.

* * *

 **a/n:** hey everyone! this chapter was originally gonna go all the way to the New York return but it was getting a little long so I decided to stop it here. huge thanks to quinn (unsavedprincesses on tumblr/jabberwocking here), catherine (warrioreyess on tumblr/bluepenquin1998 here), and emmy (avengrrrs on tumblr) for betaing this chapter! I hope everyone enjoyed it. Thanks for all the feedback on the last chapter!

Please leave a review! What are you hoping for next chapter? What did you think of Lydia and Steve's meeting? I'm thinking that once we reach 30 reviews I'll hold a q&a for spoilers or take oneshot prompts, if anyone's interested?

Also, feel free to check out **inkblots. co. vu** (remove the spaces) if you wanna read my 3 am drabbles and see the gifsets I make for this fic! I'm always accepting asks there too if you wanna send something.


	6. waiting game

vi. _waiting game_

"There are some very important things we need to discuss," Pepper announced.

Lydia didn't know why she was included in this team meeting, or whatever they were gonna call it, and she especially didn't know why they were in the conference room instead of the common area, or why she hadn't seen Bruce or Jane yet. Actually, she didn't know a lot of things: what happened to the man that interrogated her, if Bucky and Steve were okay (Bucky had been hauled off to medical as soon as they'd arrived, while Steve sat in the chair nearest the front of the room lips pursed with worry), the number of people who'd died in the attacks, if her parents were fine, why Darcy kept trying to grab her hand and draw on it.

Not a moment after the Stark Jet's wheels hid the landing pad at Stark Tower had Lydia made eye contact with the the two people waiting for them. Steve Rogers, sporting an impressive number of bruises, rested a generous amount of his weight on the woman next to him. Darcy Lewis, Lydia had realized, upon noticing the cat beanie on her head. If she were being honest, it was the stupid beanie that made her eyes water up. She wiped at them furiously with her sleeve, catching them before they could fall. _Not now_ , she'd reminded herself. _Not now, not now, not now._

When the engines went quiet, Lydia had found Clint slinging an arm around her waist and leading her off the plane. The sudden protectiveness struck her as odd. She figured that it was just his way of saying _I'm glad you didn't die and managed to escape your former employer._ If it were someone else, she would've told him to stop playing big-brother, but this was Clint, and any steps towards feeling things were steps in the right direction.

 _Call mom_ , her brain had reminded her, like a tug on her arm from a small child. Lydia blinked, and felt eight-year-old-her yank on the sleeve of her jacket. _Call mom and dad_ , she said. _They're worried._

"Lydia!" someone exclaimed, dragging her away from her de-aged self's reminders, and Darcy launched herself at Lydia. The force of another person charging at her almost knocked her to the floor, but Clint's hand at the base of her hip kept her from falling over. The wind rushed out of her lungs with an oh-so-graceful _oof_. Darcy leaned back from the embrace and whacked Lydia's arm. "All of you crazy people pulling shit like this is gonna give me a heart attack." She yanked her back into a hug. "You scared me, idiot."

"I missed you too." She meant it. When the Avengers were out on missions and nobody was around but Darcy and a few scientists, it was Darcy who'd kept Lydia company. Jane joined them every three or so days when she made an appearance outside of the lab, but Darcy and Lydia spent the most time with each other-going out for drinks, biting their nails raw as they watched footage of whatever fight was going on, Darcy showing up in Lydia's office and keeping her company as she sorted through notes and files.

"I made you a cake," she'd piped up.

Lydia had laughed into Darcy's shoulder. Her eyes filled with tears that spilled over, streaming down her face. It felt good to cry. She used to tell people that-Nat and Clint and Steve. _Crying helps release some of the tension. If you're crying, it means you're feeling the most a person can possibly feel and your body physically can't contain it._ Of course, Clint had snarked back at her instead of responding and Nat hadn't answered. And she never actually listened to her own words, but better late than never, right?

Darcy's grip tightened around her like a knot, _I'm not letting you go_ spoken by her arms and not her lips. "It's a chocolate cake," Darcy added, and Lydia burst into tears all over again.

"Alright, kids, hug inside where you aren't risking a ninety-story fall," Tony said as he brushed past them.

"He's right," Lydia admitted, making no move to pull away.

"Plus," Darcy whispered. "Don't look now, but I think Cap and that guy with the metal arm-I'm hesitant to say Winter Soldier but I also don't know if it's Bucky Barnes or whatever-are about to either fistfight or have a heart-to-heart. We should let them do their thing."

Lydia resisted the urge to turn around. "Smart idea, Lewis."

"Learned from the best," Darcy replied cheekily as she took Lydia's hand in hers and pulled her inside. "It comes from hanging out with mad scientists all day." A blast of cool air hit Lydia as soon as she was in the building, blowing her hair back off her shoulders for a half-second and nagging her to do a dozen different things. _Call mom, get a job, where are you sleeping tonight?_

Oh crap. Where _was_ she sleeping tonight?

"Darcy," Lydia asked, still clasping the girl's hand in hers as they wandered down a hallway towards an elevator. "Do you mind if I crash at your place tonight? There's a chance somebody will kill me if I step into my apartment."

Darcy rolled her eyes immediately, and Lydia's stomach sank until she said, "I would, but Tony's forcing me to stay here until stuff is figured out."

"He's _forcing you?_ Is he starting a cult or something? Jesus Christ, I'll talk to Pepper."

"That's the scarier thing!" Darcy exclaimed, dropping Lydia's hand in favor of theatrical gestures. "Pepper's on board. She thinks it's a good idea. 'For our protection' and all, or something along those lines. I'll resent him forever."

Tony's reasoning wasn't too off, but how was centralizing HYDRA's targets in the one place they'd look first going to keep them safe? She shook her head and made a noise of frustration as she jabbed the elevator button. The metal doors of the lift slid open and JARVIS's voice greeted them.

"Welcome back, Miss Kennedy. Hello, Miss Lewis. I've been instructed by Miss Potts to bring you to the conference room."

"Sure thing, J," Darcy answered, turning back to Lydia to continue her train of thought. She stopped abruptly, turning back to the speaker and inquiring, "Wait, what?"

"There will be a discussion in regards to yours and other's wellbeings."

Darcy turned to Lydia and gave her a funny look. Lydia, just as confused, had shrugged and mouthed, _I don't know._

Which brought her back to the present.

She almost composed a list of things she didn't understand about her current situation while Tony rattled off a number of security protocols he wanted to instate. "I'll be moving you all under this roof, for starters."

"Um," Darcy piped up, dropping her pen and Lydia's hand. "I happen to like my apartment, without a computer watching me all the time-no offense, J-"

"No offense taken, Miss Lewis."

"-and I'm not sure how comfortable I am with all of this."

Lydia nodded, asking, "How is it safer to put all of their targets together, in one place, where everyone would know where they are?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Goodness gracious, Kennedy, did you not listen to everything I just said?"

"I was!" Lydia protested. She was lying. (It had been a long few days, okay?) "But even if you add a hundred-foot-wall and a moat, nothing is impossible to break into."

"Oh, I'm sorry, who's the security expert in the room?" Tony questioned. "Or do you have a history of robbing maximum-security buildings that you'd like to share with the class?"

Goddamn Tony Stark.

"Let's get back on track," Pepper cut in before Lydia could open her mouth again. "The first thing we'll be doing is moving you into the tower until we come up with a more secure plan. You'll be safe here, it will help with the PR if everyone's together, and there are more opportunities for you to strategize if you're close. Next," she continued, not leaving room for anyone to protest, "Hill has some things she'd like to share."

Hill spun in her chair so she was facing the table rather than the podium in the front of the room where Tony had spoken. "I'm going to ask Kennedy to resign from her job as therapist."

Lydia froze in her seat, eyes sliding over from her fingers, tapping on the marble table, to Hill. "Excuse me?"

"You don't have to, of course," Pepper assured her, "I'm not going to fire you.

"But your employer beforehand was SHIELD, which doesn't exist anymore," Hill reminded her. Your job put you in danger. And I know that your relationships with team members extend beyond professional."

Clint leaned forward in his seat and Tony lowered his voice to a stage-whisper before saying, "Spill the beans, Kennedy."

She clenched her jaw. This evening was not going the way she expected it to.

"Tony, sit down, Clint, don't say anything," Pepper commanded. "She didn't mean it like that. It's just that you've formed personal relationships-not a word, Tony-with the team."

"Exactly," Hill affirmed. "I don't want there to be any conflict of interest when it comes to the treatment of their health. A friend's opinion can differ from a doctor's."

Well, put like that, it did make some sense. _Some._ Lydia was the third in a line of therapists that attempted working with the Avengers. The first two were far older than her, with more experience in the psychology field. Still, things hadn't worked out. How would it help them to dislodge them from someone they trusted?

"I understand," Lydia said, nodding. She chose her next words carefully, trying to defend her case without announcing that everyone in the room had trust issues. "It's just that I need to...I'd like to not be unemployed, if I can help it. Uh." She thought about Bianca's student loans, which she'd promised to help out with to take weight off her parents' shoulders. The mortgage, which she'd been sending them money for since SHIELD had taken care of her own student debt.

"That's the next thing I want to talk about," Hill said.

"I have a question," Tony interjected. "Didn't I just hire you in the HR department? How are you up here?"

"I asked her," Pepper answered. "We were coming up with solutions, but seeing as I'm not experienced with all of this...with being a spy, I called her up for advice."

"I'd like you to form a team," Hill proposed, words directed at Lydia. "Most of the Avengers Initiative missions through SHIELD had a lot of agents working on setting up and monitoring the missions."

Lydia had three seconds to process this before Tony interrupted again.

"We are _not_ rebuilding SHIELD," he decided, words tinted with finality. "The Avengers, right now, is small enough that we all know we can trust each other."

"Stark's right. Bringing in more people makes it easier for HYDRA to re-infest the team," Barton agreed. Lydia turned to Nat and raised an eyebrow. The redhead simply nodded her agreement.

"I've got files on potential candidates for the team." Hill spoke directly to Lydia this time. "Cross-reference them with all of the databases you have access to. Everyone HYDRA who was a part of SHIELD has their identity on the internet now." Then to the team, she said, "The Avengers have to lead the fight against HYDRA. But you can't do it alone. I know that you've saved cities, and fought a god, and ruined New York insurance rates single-handedly. You're the best of the best, but you need backup. Intel. People who can help you stay one-step ahead."

"I don't like this," Tony declared. "It's already risky, and HR is currently going through every employee we have to make sure Stark Industries is clean."

"You can vet them, then," Hill decided. "Whether or not this goes through is up to you, but Lydia, drop by my office sometime tomorrow and I'll give you the files."

"They're paper?" she asked, then regretted it. Of course they were paper. The electronic databases had been emptied. "Wait. Nevermind. Oh-I have another question. Why am I being asked to lead this team?"

Hill answered almost immediately, squaring up her shoulders with confidence. She seemed to thank Lydia for not arguing with her. "You attended the Academy, so have knowledge of field operations. You're organized, you know the team better than anyone. Your responsibilities would be similar to what you do now, only this time they'd have to listen to you. You'll be even more accessible in the event that something goes south on a mission. You're de-briefings would be similar to sessions."

Again, those were good points. She did know the team well-hell, she could ask any one of the journalists or law enforcement officials who'd been demanding her arrest yesterday for confirmation. But her knowledge of strategizing and field ops was rusty. She was about to point out as much but got cut off.

"Why are we still considering this?" Tony interrupted again. Lydia turned her gaze on him. "I'm using my veto," he decided. "Meeting over."

"That's not how this works," Steve countered. It was the first time he'd spoken the entire meeting, and it left Clint and Tony frozen, but with their mouths still open in preparation of spitting out an argument. "We'll think about it. It's been a long day, we can discuss it tomorrow."

Pepper nodded at the front of the room. "That's a good idea. You all need to sleep."

Lydia agreed. They all needed to rest. But she didn't see any calming hours of slumber in her own near future.

* * *

Lydia found herself settled in an uninhabited apartment a half-dozen floors below Tony's penthouse a few hours later. Her stomach was full from Darcy's cake, there was a bag of takeout on the counter and a set of pajamas on the bed, but other than that, the space was empty. _Has anyone ever lived here?_ It felt like a hotel room. Like the motel room before, only more expensive. And lonelier. Was she actually seeking Bucky's company?

No. Not really. Anyone would work. Darcy or Jane, Bella, her sister, her parents. By the time she'd finished showering, it was close to eleven at night, and her parents needed sleep, which meant the phone call got pushed back another day.

She ate the takeout and watched trashy late-night TV. As frustrating as Tony could be, she appreciated the food. It was her usual order from her favorite taco place.

The bed was softer than the one in her apartment. Far more comfortable than the one in the hotel. Or the couch at Bella's house that she'd insisted on so Bucky could sleep in the bed. It was cramped, and the metal of his arm had been damaged during the gunfire so that a piece of it jabbed out. Lydia let him have the whole bed so that he could rest the arm away from him to keep from cutting his ribs.

It felt like a hotel. Temporary. She wished this mess were temporary, and that all she had to do was sweep up rubble and get back to work. The enemy was still out there, in here, everywhere. Ghost-pains hit her in the stomach, and could feel HYDRA breathing down her neck. Foul and taunting, _we'll never go away_ , they mumbled and murmured. Lydia thought of the man she'd killed, and the other she'd shot. She wondered if he'd ever passed her by in a crowd, if she'd ever made eye contact with him at HQ, if he ever saw her and had intrusive thoughts about her killing him one day.

Lydia thought about the girl. Bored, bored, bored. Would she get a funeral? Any guilt about the man, and his lifeless corpse rotting next to a freeway, flew out the window. He'd gotten a quick death, when he'd deserved worse.

Her brain drifted over to her own future. Hill made good points when reasoning Lydia's hypothetical resignation. Honestly, it would be bad if she stayed on despite being asked to leave. It was either resign now, or get fired later. But if the Avengers decided they didn't want a backup team, where did that leave her? Would companies hire a terrorist-magnet with a failed field agent career? Was she going to have to work under Stark's management like Hill? _Not human resources_ , she prayed. _I can't lecture people about sexual harassment in the workplace without punching them._

In all honesty, fate of her career aside, the idea of a supplemental team was a good one. The Avengers were smart, but with people running missions controls, they'd be able to save more lives.

Even so, Lydia knew why Tony, Clint, and Nat worried. If SHIELD, which had been responsible for protecting the planet, couldn't be trusted, who could?

She'd go down to Hill's office and pick the files up tomorrow, Lydia decided. That way, if it was greenlighted, she could get to work as soon as possible.

Rolling over so she rested in the middle of the bed, Lydia stared up at the ceiling. It was unreasonably high. Blank. A second chance.

Did she ever ask for one?

An hour passed, too high above the city to hear much of the traffic. Lydia slept dreamlessly and thinly, ever-so-aware of the ominous unknown lurking not far ahead.

* * *

It turned out that Bianca called Lydia before Lydia called her. Sometime between the meeting and the next morning, Tony had forwarded Lydia's cell number to the phone in her room.

The dial tone reached into her sleep and yanked her out. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, surprised by the noise. There was a landline on the bedside table, flashing an orange light at the top of the phone as it rang. "Jesus," she mumbled under her breath. Lydia rested a hand against her racing heart as she reached over to lift it off the hook. "Hello?" she answered, clearing her throat and trying to sound more awake than she was.

"Lydia?"

" _Bianca?_ "

"Yeah, it's me," her sister affirmed, not paying attention to the joy in Lydia's voice. She moved straight to business. "Listen, you weren't picking up your phone, so dad bought me a plane ticket to JFK."

 _That_ grabbed her attention, and suddenly Lydia was talking business too. Sitting up in bed, she clamored, "You _what?_ No. Cancel the ticket, I'm fine."

"You didn't let me finish. Dad bought me a plane ticket to JFK yesterday. I'm here right now but I don't know where you are, and I don't think I can afford cab fare."

Oh god. Bianca had actually- _okay_. Lydia tossed the comforter aside and, with the phone to her ear, began to change back into her clothes from yesterday. She noticed what looked like blood on the side of her tee shirt and covered it up with her jacket, grimacing. She needed to get to the airport. "Okay, Bianca? Give me a second, okay?"

"Your city smells gross. Why did you move here?" her sister, ever-so-helpful, asked.

"Not enough jobs in small town New Jersey," she answered, pulling on her sock. "JARVIS, I need a car to JFK."

"I can't allow that, ma'am. Mr. Stark has made it clear that you are not to leave the building without security accompaniment."

What the hell.

"Can you get me a security companion, then?"

"Who are you talking to?" Bianca inquired. Lydia was struggling to jam her foot into one of her boots, so she put the phone down on the counter, hitting the speaker button. "Is there a guy there? Ly-dee-ahhh," she sang.

"I'm not a man," JARVIS supplied helpfully. "I'm an artificial intelligence system programmed by Tony Stark."

Bianca was quiet for a moment. "You have weird taste in men. I'll never understand you," she said finally.

Lydia turned speakerphone off. Bianca's muffled protests rang out through the small speaker.

"JARVIS, I need to get to the airport so I can pick up my sister. Can you find someone who'll go with me so she isn't stranded there?"

"A search is being conducted as we speak," he assured her.

Lydia picked the phone back up. "Bitch," Bianca greeted her.

"Stop," Lydia answered simply. Conversations with her sister always seemed to relax into snarkiness eventually. This was no exception. "I'm, like...it's a long story, but I'm not allowed to leave the Tower until-"

"Agent Barton is available," the AI interrupted. Lydia paused mid-sentence. _Like father, like son._ Wait, no. More like: _Like inventor, like invention._ "He says he will meet you in the common area in three minutes."

"Thanks," she told JARVIS, then noticed more dirt and blood on her jeans. "I'm on my way, but after we pick you up we'll probably have to make a few stops." Namely her apartment, for new clothes and her stuff. Some of it, at least. Lydia thought of her books and DVD sets of _Gilmore Girls_. Those would have to come back with her. Also, her hairbrush would be nice.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Just don't leave me here. The guy outside the doors is giving me weird looks."

"I'm leaving now. Call me if something happens, but stay where you are."

"Okay. Oh, and Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't lead the terrorists to me, please."

Lydia rolled her eyes and hung up.

* * *

"Sister, huh?" Barton asked, pulling up in front of the gate Bianca had texted Lydia. "How come I didn't know this?"

With a shrug, Lydia answered, "I don't know. Didn't look hard enough into my file, I guess."

She couldn't see it because he was wearing sunglasses, but Lydia would bet money that he rolled his eyes. "Let me rephrase. Why didn't you say you had a sister?"

She slid her own sunglasses-significantly cheaper and, unfortunately, unable to scan for heat signatures-up from her nose onto the top of her head, squinting into the sun. "It never came up, I guess," she reasoned. "Why?"

"I can't picture you as a big sister."

Lydia recoiled, not sure if she was being insulted or not. "Well, you won't have to for long, since you're gonna meet her in like two minutes. I'll go get her. Wait here."

"Believe me, I'm not going anywhere. If Tony finds sees a scratch on his dumb car he'll kill me."

 _Are you forgetting that you're an assassin?_ Lydia wondered, shaking her head knowingly.

The car door swung upon and she stepped out, searching the crowd for Bianca's familiar curls and slim figure. Pulling out her phone, she sent a quick text- _here._

Just as she slid it away, a text alert sent it buzzing again.

 **Bianca:** where?

 _Buzz_.

 **Bianca:** wait. I see u.

Lydia looked up, envious of her sister's hawk vision. It wasn't like her own eyesight was poor, but Bianca had a knack for finding needles in haystacks. She'd always been good at picture puzzles. Where was she? Lydia scanned the crowd again, but didn't notice her sister.

"Surprise!" she yelled, emerging from the left and jumping into Lydia's arms. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Lydia was sent stumbling back by another person's weight. "I swear, Lyds, you gave mom a heart attack."

She wrapped her arms around her sister. "Did the dude actually search the house?"

Bianca shook her head and answered, "No. That was a bluff to see if you'd turn yourself in, according to the police. He never got a search warrant." She rolled her eyes at the police like a mother to her poorly behaved child. "Whatever. You got a car or are we doing the subway thing?"

She pointed vaguely over her shoulder. "Car. C'mon, we've got stops to make."

"Okay, okay. Calm _down,_ Lyds."

Lydia rolled her eyes. Bianca had always been something of a drama queen. Here she was, acting as if Lydia was the one being pushy. She pushed the thoughts away, more focused on getting back to the car. "Jesus, is your new weird boyfriend rich?"

"Ha, _ha_ , you're so witty. But JARVIS is still a computer, and I don't have a boyfriend, this is my friend-" she winced at the word, since Tony would never let it go if she called him a friend, "-'s car."

"Of course you don't have a boyfriend."

Of course she would say something like that. Scowling, Lydia countered, "Please. When was the last time you dated anyone?"

"I'll have you know," Bianca declared, hoisting her suitcase into the trunk-how much stuff did she _bring_ the damn thing weight at least a ton-and slamming the trunk door shut, "that I had a date two days ago."

Lydia studied her sister's features, since her answer had thrown her for a loop. "Are you lying?"

She kept her eyes trained on her sister as the younger girl hesitated for a half-second. Her breath faltered the slightest bit and time slowed down. _This,_ Lydia thought to herself. _This was what I was supposed to do._ She was supposed to be in the field, up close with her enemies. Thoughts of HYDRA pooled into her brain, the way it had spread through SHIELD like a disease. Well. Technically, she'd gotten pretty personal with the enemy, but that was a different story.

"No," Bianca breathed.

In what had felt like minutes but was likely only a millisecond, Lydia had deduced that she was lying. She pointed this out.

"I did!" her little sister protested again.

"What was his name?"

"I—fine. I hate you." Bianca's features slid into a scowl as she rested a hand on the handle of the car door. Lydia heard her grumbling to herself. " _Damn psychology degree_."

* * *

An hour later, Clint, Lydia, and Bianca arrived back at the tower. Tony's car was still intact, something he expressed something that could be gratitude about later on. Lydia had four of her own suitcases crammed full of whatever stuff she considered most important. Her favorite movies, her computer, any other notebooks she had about the Avengers, fresh clothes, the picture frames she had of her family, and all the coffee grounds she had in her cabinet. She took a moment to throw away old food in a bag and bring it outside, just to keep her apartment from becoming a pig sty.

As Lydia packed her stuff up and Clint stood in the doorway, Bianca lounged in one of the chairs in her living room insulting the decor. Figured. It wasn't stylish or intricate in design, not by any means, but it served as a decent place to live on her salary.

"I'm sure your dorm room is much more fashionable," Lydia snarked.

Bianca didn't hesitate. "Believe me, it is."

Ugh.

It hadn't at all helped Lydia's case when, on the ride back, Clint had started sharing stories with Bianca. "You know," he'd recalled. "Once, your sister shot an agent in the leg during a training test nobody told her about." Lydia had signed forlornly, because nobody ever seemed to forget that story. The bullet had grazed the agent's leg, but someone had forgotten to put her on the email list about the whole _agents-only_ training activity that would've told her it was just a drill. Instead, she'd gotten stuck in a fake hostage situation, and accidentally shot the agent doing a sweep to make sure everyone had cooperated.

"Clint, I swear, I never tell the story about the time when you tripped over Stark's coffee table and spilled coffee on his new robot. Remember that? Because I do. Clear as day."

Bianca hadn't had as much fun with that as she had with the _my-responsible-big-sister-once-shot-someone-accidentally_ story.

Now, later, they were in the elevator up to Lydia's apartment. Lydia had two suitcases balanced carefully in her hands, Bianca held her own bag and a plant from Lydia's kitchen, and Clint begrudgingly toted two of her suitcases with him. Every time she spy looked away, Bianca gestured to his arms and mouthed, not at all subtly, _WOW._ Lydia made a conscious effort to keep her face blank, just in case JARVIS was recording it or Clint was somehow seeing it with the eyes on the back of his head.

It arrived at Lydia's floor- _temporary_ floor, she reminded herself-and she noticed for the first time that there were three other apartments on the level, off to the sides of the elevator. "Who're in those?" she asked Clint.

The archer considered for a moment, and then replied, "I think the one on the left is Thor, and the ones on the right are Lewis and Foster."

Lydia gave Bianca the key and she zipped ahead while Lydia hung back with Clint, who'd poked her in the arm with a question. "I can't believe you have a little sister."

Really? That's what he'd pulled her back to talk about?

"Well. I do."

"Is she sticking around?"

She shrugged. "Probably for a few days, I don't know. She's got school, so she won't be here more than a week." Lydia wanted to ask him about the team, wanted to know if they'd thought about it. Probably not. Barton had come to pick her up at nine this morning, so there likely hadn't been time to discuss. "Um. Thanks for being security personnel, though. I appreciate it."

He rolled his eyes as he dropped off the suitcases in her doorway. "Yeah, yeah. You owe me coffee for this."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, amused. "Sure thing, Barton."

* * *

An hour and a phone call home later, Lydia was semi-unpacked and Bianca was glued to the TV. (" _You're subscribed to Netflix_ and _Hulu? I'm not leaving this room ever.")_ The older of the two sisters decided that now would be a good time to pick up the files from Hill's office.

Stark Industries' human resources department was large, but she found Hill's cubicle without much fuss. The woman, who was on the phone, wordlessly handed her a box with a note on top.

 _Look for two people who can go undercover b/c everyone knows Avengers' faces. At least one: medic, linguist, law enforcement past._

Her work was practically cut out for her.

* * *

The call about Bucky came right after lunch.

"He keeps asking to see you and the Captain," the nurse on the other end of the line informed her. "Rogers just arrived, so I don't know if you have to come, but it's protocol that I let you know."

"Okay," she told him. "That's fine. I'll be right down."

They had him in a cell. Lydia didn't want to be hyperbolic, or anything, but the room where Bucky was staying was definitely a cell. Concrete walls, a single window high above the ground, and a cot.

"Who had him placed here?" she demanded from a nurse stationed outside the room. One glance in had given her enough details.

The man started, fumbling with something on the cart. "Uh, I'm not sure. I can ask if you want."

Feeling guilty for scaring him, she smiled softly. "That would be great, thanks."

And now to see Bucky. Steve was inside already, speaking to his best friend in a low voice. Or at least, Lydia assumed it was a low voice, because the concrete walls made it impossible to hear anything. She tested the knob to see if it was unlocked. The door clicked as the bolt slid out of place. Lydia stepped inside.

"Hey," she greeted, smiling lightly down at Bucky, whose withering features seemed to liven up a little at the sight of her face. Steve cleared his throat.

"Did you need to talk to me?" he asked.

"Um, actually, I got a call from a nurse saying that...James. James wanted to see me." She made the decision to avoid saying Bucky around Steve, lest he think she were trying to intrude. Steve nodded. The comfortableness of the room seemed to have escaped when she opened the door. "I asked who placed you in here. Hopefully you'll be transferred somewhere...different."

"She's right, Buck," Steve said. "We'll find you an apartment or something, you can stay there."

Bucky stared at the wall, and then looked over at Steve. "I asked," he blurted. "I told them to put me in the most secure room they had. I don't...I don't want to hurt anyone." A deep breath later, he added, "I mean, Jesus Christ, Steve, I put you in the goddamn hospital."

"That wasn't you. You would never do that."

It wasn't Lydia who said the words this time. Steve spoke quietly but firmly, leaving no room for argument.

The captain turned to Lydia for a moment. She knew they were thinking the same thing. _This isn't right._ "All the rooms are incredibly secure," Lydia assured Bucky. "Stark developed the apartments to be impossible to infiltrate. You'd never be able to break into anyone's room. Nobody would be able to break into yours." She stepped towards him, sitting down on the cot-Jesus Christ it was like sitting on a rock-and looked him in the eye. "Do you still trust me?" Lydia paused. "Don't lie, or anything. If you don't, that's fine. But if you do, trust me when I say you'll be safe in an apartment."

Bucky's features drooped to a frown. "It's not my safety I'm worried about." He shifted his sitting position and his knee bumped against hers. Lydia felt like a high schooler again, _does he like me?_ and then she almost blushed from embarrassment. Dear god, she hoped neither of the super-soldiers were harboring a secret ability to read minds. Her entire knee seemed to burst into flames, and she prayed that Bucky wouldn't notice. Vaguely, she counted off a dozen signs of attraction in the back of her mind, but she shoved those thoughts away, locked them up, _quiet quiet_ , _now is not a good time._

"Buck…" Steve started. "C'mon. You can trust Lydia."

"I _do_ trust her. Just-forget it."

"You don't trust yourself," Lydia supplied before she could shut her mouth. _Stop stop stop._ Sh didn't stop. "I understand why. But I trust you. Steve trusts you. You'll be alone, you never have to leave if you don't want to. But at least you'll be treated like a person." _You're a person._ It hurt her to see him hate himself. _What is this?_ she wondered. _Empathy_ , her brain told her, but it felt like more.

"What do you say, Buck?" Steve offered. "If you hate it we'll move you back here. Just try it?"

Lydia bit her anticipatorily. Bucky nodded slowly, once, twice. "Yeah. But if I do anything, you have to put me down. Whatever it takes."

"It won't come to that," Steve swore. The ferocity of the faith he had in Bucky gave Lydia the impression that Steve would never let Bucky get away. Never allow him to lose himself, or flee. There was a sense of finality in everything he said.

A knock on the door sent three pairs of eyes up to the entrance. A nurse slipped in quietly, saying, "Um, I have to give him his meds now."

Steve's hand flew to Bucky's immediately. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

Bucky shook his head. "It's fine. I'll be okay."

Lydia didn't know if he meant the words or not, but she knew they were true. He was going to be okay.

In the hallway, Steve pulled her aside and said, "Thank you."

Lydia paused mid-step. She turned to face him. "For what?"

"For being there." The man ran a hand through his blonde hair. "For taking care of him. I don't know how long it would've taken us to find him if he'd been alone, and it's good he has someone else on his side now that he's here."

Lydia shook her head. "Of course, Steve."

He looked both ways down the hallway and then spoke to her in a quiet voice. "We're deciding on whether or not the team goes through tonight, okay? But, uh, no matter how it turns out, I'd really appreciate it if you could still be a friend to him. He needs it."

She didn't hesitate. "Absolutely." There were no thoughts about her future masked by this promise. It wasn't supposed to hide her own worry or give Steve a positive impression. Everything about it was for Bucky. She cast her eyes back to his room. Her knee still burned like it had combusted. "Anything he needs, tell me. I know he probably won't ask by himself." Lydia could never trust anyone to ask for help themselves, but she knew they'd look out for each other. Steve nodded, and then turned towards the elevators. She chewed her lip, debating back and forth between whether or not to let the words on her tongue escape. _Fuck it._ She might as well make her case now, if she was probably going to be unemployed tomorrow anyways. "And Steve?" she called.

He froze in the hallway, then turned his head. "Yeah?"

"I'll always be your friend, too. No matter what happens. Even if I resign, you can still come talk to me. This isn't an ultimatum, or whatever." Her lips spread into a soft smile. "Good luck with deciding. Do what you think is best for the team."

Steve nodded solemnly just as the elevator car arrived. He stepped inside, giving her a nod in farewell.

The doors closed behind him. Lydia turned towards the direction of the elevator leading to her apartments. Anxiety pulsed through every part of her body. Just a few more hours, and then she'd have her answers. She took a deep breath.

And then the assembly alarm went off.

* * *

 **a/n:** That cliffhanger snuck up on me too. This story has broken free from the outlines, and now it's loose, everyone should be scared. I apologize for the length, too! (Or I don't? If you like long chapters I don't but if you don't then I'm sorry). This story is officially at 20k+ words, and the document I'm writing it on has reached like 65 pages, which boggles me honestly.

Thank you so much to **emilia christine** for the super long review, again. HONESTLY you're so nice and I love hearing what you have to say. More thanks to **abstract0118** and **xenocanaan** for reviewing as well! I loved hearing your thoughts on the chapter. Shoutout to **chasinghorizons** for being a betareader for me, and to **Crime Scene Fairy** for talking back and forth with me about headcanons and crossovers and Clint Barton. As always, everyone is welcome to look at **inkblots. co. vu (** remove the spaces) if you want to see more about Lydia! I've got angsty oneshots and poorly-done gifsets and an askbox that's open to all questions, anon or not.

What do you think's gonna happen next? Lydia's career hangs in the balance, something possibly world-ending is happening, and next chapter contains a lot more Lydia/Bucky angst. How do you feel about Bianca, or the Lydia/Clint scene? Leave a review on your way out if you can!


	7. cor aut mors

Warnings: the word nazi is mentioned briefly in relation to an unimportant character who never actually makes an appearance; cursing that's nsfr (not safe for Ramadan), and alcohol/food mentions.

vii. _cor aut mors_

Bucky's hand held tightly onto hers. Lydia was only ridiculously aware of the fact. His palms were calloused and rough against her skin, his thumb curled the base of her own. She knew, deep down, that this was not allowed. She shouldn't be doing this, and Lydia _knew_ that when Steve had told her to be a friend to Bucky, he wouldn't mind her holding his hand and allowing him to slump against her on the couch, but he definitely, 100%, had not meant for her to develop feelings and confuse him _._

The Avengers were downtown dealing with a bank robbery/hostage situation. Nat chased the retreating robbers through the streets with her motorcycle, dodging the gunfire being sent her way. From above, Tony did his best to hit the van, but couldn't do so very accurately considering the civilians running around down on the street.

Darcy, Jane, and Lydia had gathered in the common area to watch the news footage, while Bianca–despite initially panicking–didn't seem all to interested in watching with them.

("Let me know how it goes, or if you need help with something. But I've got, like, all the seasons of _Sex and the City_ here and you've got food in your fridge so really, I'm good.)

At the last second, Lydia doubled back to ask Bucky if he wanted to watch with her. When he'd nodded, she'd taken his hand and led him up to the common floor's living room, dodging nurses who tried to object. Darcy was already there with dinner on the counter, wrapped up in foil to keep warm, while Jane scribbled away on a notepad, never content with leaving science in the lab. She muttered to herself quietly as the news footage observed Tony blasting the van from the side. Every time the footage cut to Steve, Bucky's body would tense and his clutch on Lydia's hand would tighten the slightest bit. _Don't be stupid don't be stupid_ , she told herself, and muffled her feelings, smothered them with a pillow from the couch that she held between her stomach and her knees, which were raised up to her chest. In their little pillow-prison, she prayed they would quiet.

Lydia wasn't stupid. She just _felt_ stupid. So she blocked the air from her own heart, which was causing her to feel reckless and ignorant.

Steve had gotten all of the hostages out and sent them towards the ambulances and police cars, so he joined the fight by calling Thor and having him fly him up to the truck. Steve's shield, which seemed to be almost alive, bounced back and forth between the pavement and the truck before smashing into the window, shattering it and sending the vehicle swerving.

The camera cut over to Nat, who climbed onto the handlebars of the bike and jumped onto the back of the truck. Lydia rolled her eyes. The Avengers' motorcycle insurance rates were already ridiculously high, and almost not worth it if not for the applied discount to thank them for saving earth multiple times. As she was displayed on the footage, the anchor began to discuss Nat's covers and files.

"While the redhead Avenger has proven her loyalty to the Avengers cause multiple times, the recent information on her past with the KGB tells another story about the alleged hero's dark past," one of the anchors said. She and another correspondent began a back and forth about second chances beyond movies and whether or not people can actually change, which Lydia found interesting at first, but later redundant. She'd done her thesis on the brain and the way it processed forgiveness and repentance, and nothing they said were things she hadn't heard before.

"Holy crap!" Darcy exploded from her spot on the armchair. She jumped up, knocking a pile of papers, a ball of yarn, and a rubber band off her lap. "Jane, look at your boyfriend!"

Lydia searched the screen for Thor, finally finding him in the background flying up from a street to a rooftop, one of the robbers clinging desperately to his bicep.

"What a lucky robber," Darcy remarked. Lydia narrowed her eyes quizzically, and even Bucky turned around to give her a strange look. "I mean, not for getting dragged three hundred feet into the air and getting his ass kicked by the Avengers, but if Thor weren't dating my best friend I'd give anything to touch those arms."

Jane looked up from her science for a second, turned to the TV and nodded, remarking, "I did good," before turning back to her notes. "Now, if I could just win the Nobel Prize…"

Lydia's gaze drifted over to Bucky, and she found his eyes glowing in respite. Not quite smiling, but amused.

"I'm gonna reheat dinner, since who knows how long it'll take for them to clean this up," Darcy announced, tossing her knitting aside and heading over to the adjoining kitchen. Jane made a vague sound similar to an "okay," but missing half the letters.

The fight didn't last long after the truck swerved over. The news anchor made a comment about "another job well done," and then, bored with footage of traffic being re-immersed, cut to a segment about a movie premiere in LA. JARVIS muted the TV, knowing that nobody in the room was paying attention anymore.

"You good?" Lydia asked Bucky, and he nodded slowly.

"It's never been...easy, to see him dive headfirst into a fight. He did it so often that it oughta be easier by now, but…" Bucky didn't finish the sentence, just pinched up his face. "I don't even remember a lot of him fighting. I just know that he did." Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "I remember more about the Soldier than I do about myself," he blew out.

Lydia suddenly felt as if this moment were very intimate. She was holding his hand, backed up into the corner of the couch, talking to him about something personal.

"Memories can come back," she told him, like a psychologist would, oxymoronic to their positions so close to each other. _Not a friend, but a doctor._ "Sometimes you have to go to a familiar place, or smell something you used to know. They can be triggered by sensations."

"Everywhere I used to go was either World War II Europe or Great Depression-era Brooklyn."

Well. Lydia was taken aback by the acerbity of his words. "That's...true. You're right. But it doesn't have to be perfect. Even little things can do it." She smiled gently at him. "I don't know if they'll all come back, but it'll get better. You'll figure it out, and you have at least a dozen people who will help you."

Bucky quieted, looked at her, and spat out a question before he could bite his tongue. "Are you one of them?"

Lydia's gaze softened. "I could be. If that's what you want."

The tempo of her heartbeat picked up under his gaze, but she made no movement to show it. He could probably tell anyways. Assassins managed to know everything. It had been conditioned into them, like control had been trained into her.

He nodded slowly at her. "You seem trustworthy," he added, lips quirking up at the corners.

She swallowed thickly, taking her bottom lip between her teeth as she struggled to respond. _What is this?_ She let out an exhale that was perhaps too forceful, and then grinned at him. "Okay. Good. I'm glad."

"The team has departed from the scene of the chase and will be returning momentarily," JARVIS alerted them. Lydia jumped at the AI's voice (did it count as a voice?) and her hand flew from Bucky's to cover her chest in surprise. At the loss of contact, she felt almost cold. Rubatosis accompanied the pressure of hand over heart.

While she was surprised, Bucky looked full-on alarmed. "Who was that?" he asked, and Lydia noticed that his metal hand had clenched into a fist.

"That's JARVIS. It's is an artificial intelligence that Tony designed to protect the tower."

Bucky paused, seeming to be taking in this information. Reluctantly, he followed up, "Is...is it a person?"

Lydia wrinkled her nose up as she tried to come up with a sufficient explanation. "It's got, like, the mind of a person, but it doesn't have feelings or a physical body. JARVIS absorbs data, right? But Tony designed him so he can make decisions with that data too."

"Is... _he_ everywhere?"

Cringing, Lydia nodded. "Yeah. He's...he's in everything. That's how he protects the tower. But Tony can't access a lot of the information he collects, so like, it's not a _person_ watching you. I don't know if that's better or not."

Bucky didn't get a chance to reply as the elevator doors slid open and the Avengers-sweaty and bruised, but still laughing in victory, strolled into the common room. He seemed to shrink a few sizes just seeing them. Lydia jumped in surprise when his hand found her own, clutching it for dear life.

"Are you gonna stick around for dinner?" she asked him lightly. "The food is always good." Even though Lydia hadn't moved into the tower until that morning, she'd spent a fair amount of time in the common area, watching out for the team in news footage and staying after for the free food, or killing time in the lab when she didn't have work. Meals with all the Avengers were present tended to be a lively affair, with the exception of battles where the results weren't in their favor.

Bucky shook his head. "I don't think they want me here."

"Stop," she insisted. "Steve wants you there. I'd want you there. Jane and Darcy would, too, which means Thor would want you there." Lydia was quick to add, "If there are other reasons for why you don't want to, you don't have to. But...there are people who enjoy having you around. And you can stick with me, you don't have to talk to the rest of them."

Appearing to consider his options, Bucky tilted his head slightly to the side. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet," he said finally.

"Of course," Lydia answered, nodding. Even though he'd rejected her invitation, she felt overcome with some sugar-sweet feeling, knowing that he trusted her enough to be honest. "Do you want me to walk you back to your room?"

He glanced over at Steve, and then back at her. "I'm good, I think. I gotta talk to Steve anyways."

She slowly pulled her fingers away, smiling magnanimously. "Of course. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Bucky opened his mouth but then closed it, quirking his lips up into a small grin. "Yeah."

Even though he seemed hesitant to leave, he pulled away from Lydia, seeming to snap something and leaving her feeling complete and hollow simultaneously. She watched for a second as he pulled Steve aside and started to murmur into his ear. The two seemed irritated, and Lydia averted her gaze. This wasn't meant for her eyes.

Darcy waved at her from the table, but Lydia shook her head. It would be weird for her to sit and watch them discuss their mission, and probably her future. Plus, she kind of wanted to have dinner with Bianca and be somewhere familiar with all the change happening. Her apartment was no longer safe, her job was annihilated either way, and every time she touched Bucky, she felt like she was going to explode on the spot.

She started on her way back to the elevator, only for Nat to appear and place a hand on her shoulder. "Wait," the redhead commanded. Lydia did as she was told, freezing in place. "There are some things I need to tell you."

Even through her cryptic language, Lydia knew it was about the job. The tone was businesslike, her eyes were focused and unreadable, which she only ever did around Lydia if something serious had happened, and she spoke in a brusque but hushed voice to carry authority. "Of course. What's up?"

Nat glanced over at the team. "They want this to be kept quiet, but everyone's on board with the team except Tony. I'll work on him a little. For the most part, having a tac team sounds like an asset, as long as they function efficiently."

For a moment, she was in shock, almost sure she'd misheard the other woman's words. But then, relief rolled over Lydia in waves, because _oh thank god_ she wasn't going to be unemployed for the foreseeable future. Her jaw relaxed, lips parting and letting out a sharp breath. She sucked the oxygen back in just as quickly, because she'd actually been close to tears, and getting weepy in front of Nat right now didn't seem like a good idea.

" _However_ ," Nat continued, and Lydia was too paralyzed by elation to dread her next words, "after you run each member through all the databases we have, everyone gets to vet them. If we say no, it's no."

"That's reasonable," she answered immediately.

"I can't guarantee how long it's going to take us to approve each member but I know that I'd rather stab myself than turn this into congress. The timeframe is going to be acceptable." She smirked at Lydia. "We like having you around, sometimes. You're not always terrible."

Lydia narrowed her eyes in faux anger to let Natasha know that she completely recognized the sliver of vulnerability she'd just revealed, and she wasn't going to be an ass about it. "I appreciate it. You aren't too bad yourself, Romanoff."

Nat's quirked lips dropped as she sobered suddenly at something behind Lydia. She lowered her voice again. "One more thing. You need to stop whatever's going on with you and Barnes."

Wait, _what?_

Lydia steadied her gaze and tensed her spine, thrown off-guard by the spy's comment. "What's going on between me and Barnes?"

Nat threw her a _don't bullshit me_ glare, answering, "He's not in a position to pursue a romantic relationship. It's not safe for either of you."

She spluttered for a moment, then scoffed. Even though this was the Black Widow in front of her, Lydia's words weren't exactly lie-detector-proof. "I'm not pursuing anything romantic with him." _I might've considered it, though._ "He's my friend. I'm helping him. Same way I help you and Barton."

"If that's all that is, that's fine."

"That's all it is."

"Okay. But if there's more, you need to stop."

It wasn't a suggestion. Lydia nodded solemnly, uttering a single word. "Understood." She felt like she was back in the Academy, running drills and taking orders. For a second, she appreciated the usual amount of freedom being a psychologist gave her, instead of being an agent. She'd been in control for so long, she almost forgot how it felt to have someone tell her exactly what to do.

She didn't realize until a few seconds later than Nat had walked away. Lydia jabbed the down button for the elevator and stepped inside. Once she was back on her floor, she unlocked her door and kicked off her shoes.

"Hey, sis," Bianca greeted cheerfully from the couch. "Is everyone alive?"

"Everyone's alive," the older of the Kennedy girls confirmed. She stretched her lips out into an empty smile as she pulled a box out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave.

Really, Lydia already knew that she and Bucky weren't supposed to be anything. That had been a hypothetical, something that existed in late night thoughts and alternate universes, but not on the earth where she belonged. Still, Lydia couldn't help but feel a gnawing in her torso, sending flicks of electricity-esque buzzes all the way to her fingertips, buzzes which she extinguished by tapping her hands nervously against the counter. It was a good thing Nat told her now, she tried to convince herself. Before whatever affection became something she couldn't stop from spreading.

"What's wrong?" Bianca asked. Lydia jumped about a foot into the air when her sister showed up three feet away from her, instead of in the living room. "Why are you so jumpy?"

"I'm not. Nothing happened. I just have...work to do," she fibbed, noticing the box of files on the counter.

"Something happened, idiot. I've known you forever, I can tell when you're upset."

"I'm not upset," Lydia protested. _Speaking of things that needed to be eliminated before escalation._ "I'm just tired. I have a million files to sort out because of a new project I'm working on, which isn't actually that bad, it's just a lot of work."

Bianca squinted at her suspiciously. "You're still lying to me."

"No, I'm not."

"You have a tell. I know when you're lying."

"What's my tell?" Lydia asked, curiosity suddenly piqued.

Making a face, Bianca answered, "Like I'd actually show you. And don't change the subject. What happened?"

The microwave beeped, and Lydia pulled her food out. How bad of an idea would it be to tell Bianca? Probably a bad idea. What happened if her sister told her parents that Lydia had, at a point in time, considered a relationship with the Winter Soldier?

Of course, she could just omit that part.

And Bianca was the only person in the tower she could talk to about it. There was no way she was gonna discuss guys with any of the Avengers, Jane was fairly useless when it came to discussions of relationships, since she had a disgustingly successful love life, and Darcy might accidentally mention something to Nat or Clint. Which left her with Bianca and all of the Stark Industries employees.

At least she knew her sister.

"It's just...guy trouble," she said.

Bianca's face lit up into a beaming smiled. She hopped up onto the counter, placing her hands together and staring at Lydia. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Lydia didn't actually tell Bianca everything, but she confided in her sister enough. The younger Kennedy had immersed herself in the half-true tale of an immoral relationship, and then told Lydia she should go for it, which wasn't helpful advice, but she'd seen it coming and the advice's arrival only made her feel comforted. At the end of the week, when she flew back to New Jersey, Clint took them to the airport again, where Lydia teared up at her sister's departure, and watched as the only piece of her stable, normal life flew away on a plane. If Clint saw the water in her eyes, he didn't say a word.

* * *

Like Natasha predicted, Tony eventually agreed to the team on the grounds that they receive information on a need-to-know basis, at least for the first six months of work. Lydia could work with that.

It took nine days to sort through, vet, reference, cross-reference, assess, and rank all of the possible candidates for the team. _Her_ team, Lydia reminded herself. These were the people she was going to lead.

Of the two hundred files in the box, only seventy proved to be reasonable candidates. From there, Lydia (with the occasional help from Darcy) divided the files into groups-ops, linguistics, medics, and detectives. Then, she had to rank them, and eliminate the bottom eighty percent of each group, and _then_ assess compatibility based on whatever mission reports she could find that provided her with technique information. By the time she finally selected her preferred team members, she'd seemed to regain her confidence.

Of course, other things had happened in the nine days. James got an apartment a floor above. Her parents had called to tell her that she should visit again soon. Lydia was fairly sure she'd wrestled the control away from whatever blaze had possessed her. She resolved to start calling Bucky "James," to limit physical contact as much as possible, and to tell herself whenever he gave her a sonder look because she pulled her hand away, it was for the best.

When it came time to present the members of the team-all clean, except for one of her fourth-choice ops who turned out to have possible familial ties to neo-Nazis-to the Avengers, Lydia was prepared and more poised than she'd been since before the impromptu road trip.

Her top choice linguist, Alex Heath, had been generally well-received. Tony still insisted on running searches on him but didn't seem to protest too much. Both of the ops specialists Lydia had selected-Oliver Estrella and Aubrey Deering-boded well so far as skill went, but the Avengers came to a consensus that they needed to be interviewed before getting anywhere close to intel. Amelia Miller, a detective from Chicago, garnered approval for the most part.

It wasn't until her top medic choice came in that people began to protest.

"Jules Carter graduated from Harvard's medical school, and then spent three years at the SHIELD academy. She's technically a doctor, even though she's twenty-five."

"Wait," Bruce interrupted, glancing down at Juliette's file. "It says here that one of her professors was Corey. Wasn't he in charge of recruiting through the sci-tech academy?"

Before Lydia could open her mouth and explain why Jules was on the list, the table erupted with examples of shitty things Professor Corey had done, everything from tanking a mission in Bulgaria that cost two agents their lives to trying to smack Pepper's ass when she accompanied Tony to the Academy for commencement a few years back.

"We're in agreement, right?" Clint asked. "We can't take her."

"I can _guarantee_ that she's not a part of HYDRA," Lydia inserted.

"How?" Nat interjected.

"Because she's Peggy's granddaughter."

It wasn't Lydia who got to tell this to the group, but Steve. She turned to him, ready to snark about him stealing her thunder, but stopped in her tracks when she saw the look in his eyes.

Juliette Carter was the daughter of Christine and Henry Carter, born in 1989, identified as a genius from an early age. She'd always been known as the smartest kid in her class, the one who built an insanely complex model of the way blood was pumped using a racetrack and a set of toy cars (this, for some reason, was in her SHIELD file).

"We can trust her," he insisted. "She and Peggy are close, there's no way she'd defect."

"Steve," Natasha started, "You're too close to this. You know that." Nobody said anything, but simultaneously, every single person seemed to break eye contact with each other. This was about more than Jules. It was about Steve getting the shit beaten out of him because he refused to fight the soldier.

"Hey," Lydia barked, drawing six pairs of eyes up to her. "First of all, she trained under Corey for a week in her first year, but she thought he was an asshole so she transferred out of his class. Second, we can adjust the information she gets, or hire her as a doctor without telling her what she's doing, but you need a medic. Bruce helps, but he's not equipped to perform an emergency surgery. You need someone who's capable of managing all of the injuries you sustain, and someone physically capable of going into the field and making themselves accessible in an emergency. If you really want someone else, I've got other options that I can leave with you. But she's still the best."

"We'll think about it," Steve jumped in.

"No, we will- _dammit_ , Rogers." Tony looked ready to punch the national icon in the teeth.

"We should at least consider the options," Steve argued back. Turning up to Lydia, he informed her, "We'll let you know."

* * *

Another nine days passed by, where all of the members were approved and Jules was begrudgingly allowed to have a trial run as a physician. A dog had appeared in the tower, somehow, and when Lydia asked Natasha about it, the redhead had just pointed at her arrow-wielding partner and said, "Ask him."

A mess of job interviews followed, at least six hours of paperwork, and late one night as the Avengers returned from a mission in Austria, Lydia got roped into having dinner and was surprised to find James joining Steve at the table. She sat down at the empty chair next to him, smiling over. "Hey," she greeted, brushing a piece of hair out of her face.

His eyes had been trained on her since she entered the room, but when she made eye contact with him, he seemed to relax, the worried look on his face melting away into something calmer. "Hey," he answered. "Haven't seen much of you lately."

Lydia nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. It's this whole team thing, it's taking me forever to figure it out." She felt guilty for lying, because it wasn't _just the team_ , and it had never just been about the team. Every time she felt like she'd gotten over whatever flutter of romantic feelings she'd had towards him, they'd appear again out of nowhere. She didn't trust herself around him. "I'm pretty sure things will calm down soon, though." The words had more meaning than one.

Thor had already begun to pile food onto his plate while Nat and Clint fought over the serving spoons for the salad. She whipped up a fork, tines pointed in her partner's direction, and he begrudgingly pulled his hand away from them.

Jane and Tony had started to argue about different types of equipment and which would be better suited for an experiment involving physio-mechanical properties while Darcy jokingly punched Thor in the arm next to them.

"You're doing okay?"Lydia asked James, voice low enough to keep their conversation private, but still loud enough for him to hear.

A burst of laughter exploded from the other side of the table, impossibly loud.

"I'm doing better," James answered, a whisper into her ear that made her jump in surprise. His words were honest but positive, and she bit her lip to stifle the smile threatening to split her face, and then the shiver when she realized their proximity.

 _This is not the time_ , Lydia told herself, but she found that her spine had set itself ramrod-straight at the feeling of his breath against the shell of her ear. She almost savored it, and the tension in her torso began to rip apart her self-control. The breath slipped out of her lungs with an almost inaudible sigh- _please don't have heard that-_ and she clenched her hand into a fist. The room spun and blurred- _what's wrong with you?_ Lydia ached for another word in her ear, another brushing of his hand against hers, she wanted and wanted and-

"Are _you_ okay?"

The vision shattered.

Glass poured everywhere, biting into her skin and snapping her out of her haze.

"I'm fine," Lydia answered, not in a whisper like James, but audible enough for Darcy, who sat on her other side, to hear. The woman furrowed her brow and turned to her. _Really?_ she seemed to ask, and Lydia almost laughed at the irony of her too-loud declaration of being fine causing people to suspect that she wasn't.

But she _was_ fine. She was an adult who paid taxes and bills and balanced a checkbook, and had a degree, and she was not going to be disarmed by her own feelings.

"You sure?"

She opened her mouth, but only nodded an answer. Lydia swiped her tongue nervously across her parted lips, only _just_ noticing the way his breath caught. If he'd been any further away, it would've gone undetected. Her wide eyes flew over to him, and he was staring back at her, crazed. She swallowed, breath quickening. If she turned her head, they'd be close enough to kiss.

 _That's_ enough. She lurched back suddenly, bumping into Darcy. "Jesus! Sorry. I need a glass of wine, I'll be right back."

She scrambled up from the table, tripping over her ankles as she stumbled into the kitchen. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet by its stem, staring in it and making a face. "So I guess that plan isn't working," she muttered, swiping a bottle from the countertop and opening it with the mjølnir shaped bottle opener someone had sent as a gift. She twisted the cork off and poured generously. _It's just gonna take more time._ Maybe it was habitual at this point. That was probably it, right? She couldn't let it go because it had become a habit. That sounded viable. And with the wine swirling around her tongue, it sounded probable.

She cringed, leaning back against the counter and sipping languidly. _I_ hope _it's just a habit_. Another gulp. _Otherwise, I'm fucked._

Lydia refilled the glass and sighed, tapping her finger against the side. _Clink, clink, clink._ If she leaned back far enough, she could see Bucky's head through the very end of the doorway. Hope fluttered in her stomach. She crushed it, ground it into the dirt, _please stop hurting yourself._

When she rejoined the table, she made a point of leaning as far across the chair as possible in Darcy's direction. Any conversation with Bucky involved someone else. Every time he shot a confused look Lydia's way, she tried not to mirror his wounded visage.

 _It's for the best_ , she reminded herself. _For him. For you._

 _It's for the best._

* * *

 **a/n:** hello everyone! This chapter was a bit difficult to write, but I'm very excited for the things coming next. And by excited, I mean I'm in tears thinking about how much it's going to hurt.

(As a side note, I love Natasha and Lydia loves Natasha please don't blame her. I think a lot of characters didn't think Bucky and Lydia would be a positive relationship, and they don't realize that this is making the situation worse, but Natasha ended up being the messenger.)

Because I'm not sure how I feel about the writing on this chapter, here's a sneak peek of the next one! It's angst and fluff and some plot but mostly just Bucky and Lydia pretending they're fine when they aren't.

 _viii. strictly platonic movie not-dates_

 _On the first day of May, James strolled into Lydia's makeshift office with pure determination painted on his face. "You owe me a movie," he informed her._

 _From her spot at the computer, Lydia tipped an eyebrow. "Wait, what?" He looked like a different person. Like all the pictures of him before the war, like the man Steve told her stories about before D.C. His voice was more clear and ambitious, and he wore something akin to a smirk on his features. Lydia_

" _You said, when we were driving, 'If we make it to California without dying, we can see a movie.'" James hesitated, losing some of his confidence. "We're alive, aren't we?"_

Ahh I'm so excited for that lol. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter- **Angelbaby1231** (Clint is awesome I agree), **Irene Goddess of Imagination** (thank you so much! I love the cliffhangers I'm sorry), **abstract0118** (HONESTLY protectbuckybarnes2k16), **Emilia Christine** (i love you and thank you so much for your long reviews and yes; Steve and Lydia have such a great dynamic and I'm hoping to write more of it soon because they're so sweet; and omg? I can't believe I inspired you to write Jackie? I love her so much **everyone go read Renegades** ), and to **Lara Barnes** (LET BUCKY BE HAPPY for real). Also, six reviews, honestly, that's crazy I love you guys.

Shoutout to **notaboutcat** and tumblr user **hanyany** for betaing this. If you guys are interested, I have another Marvel fic I posted yesterday called **Monachopsis** which is a Steve daughter fic I had a lot of fun writing.

SORRY this note keeps getting longer and longer but tl;dr thank you for reviewing I hope you review this chapter and I love you all

as always, there's a blog for this fic at inkblots. co. vu (remove the spaces).


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